I don’t really know where this story came from. I guess since it’s Solstice today, I am pondering the nature of the festive season, and how it impacts invisible people. It doesn’t have a happy ending, but neither did The little Match Girl, which heavily inspires this story I’m, at least temporarily, naming Invisible.
Invisible
Jack is as old as the wind, and a little older than the hills, and his beard could be no whiter.
His touch is cold enough to kill, so he bundles himself in thick furs and hide mittens. He won’t risk it happening again.
He can see her face even now, the invisible little match girl, lighting tiny flames to keep the cold away.