June 2009
New Voices
He sits leaning over his desk, fashioned out of fading wood. He grips a ballpoint pen with one hand. Strands of his mouse brown hair in the other.
Freezing cold wind blows through his open window. It whisks around him. Teases his bare arms and pale skin. Goosebumps dot along his exposed forearms. The hairs sticking straight up on their ends. But he ignores it. Or rather, melts into it.
He...
