I remember the warmth of the sun; how it felt on my face, how it turned my hair from brown to blonde.
I remember the warmth of a good hug and a tender a kiss. It would start in my toes, reach the tips of my fingers, and travel to my ears.
“You can never go back. You have to forget.”
My thoughts interrupted, the judge had come. They were right, it was time. With a firm hand placed on my shoulder, I watch from above as a stranger spreads dirt across my cold, stiff body. My warm memories relinquished.
In response to Masters of Writing Flash Fiction Challenge “Cold”