sjsprWriting

Rustle, rustle, crawl, crawl, hup!, shhhfff. The fleece of the sheep is soft, warm, and inviting compared to the cold unwelcoming wind that bit into its skin with no mercy. Its fingers sink deeper into the white fluffy clouds of wool. No one can find it here, it is safe, it is warm. Something pulls at the hands grasped so tightly and tenderly around the white clouds. Now its elbow deep into the wool. The torso that hung loosely, almost touching the ground, is now pressed against the underbelly of the unsuspecting sheep. The force that pulls is too strong now. It disappears into the sheep. They become one. It is safe here, no one can find it, it is warm.