The solitary figure made his way through the blinding white curtain of snow that faced him. He approached the old church that he had remembered from his youth. Every Sunday, regardless of the weather, his father had led them through the old, heavy wooden doors to the same pew. Billy had often daydreamed as the preacher went through his weekly ritual. In his younger years, he had thought of his favorite war comic books and relived the battleground scenes. As a teenager, he had dreamed of the cute girls in his class. His neighbor, Emily, was the girl he dreamt of most often. Her strawberry blonde hair seemed to catch fire in the bright sunshine of summer. During the winter, her hat and scarf accentuated a face that could have belonged to an angel. Billy wondered what she was doing right now. She was still living at home from what he had heard most recently. She was probably curled up in front of her parent’s fireplace reading a book and enjoying a cup of hot chocolate.
