Jimmy glanced back over his shoulder at Shan, dripping wet and shivering, before turning back to the cold hearth, swearing.
Fool girl! What had she been thinking? It didn’t matter. He had found her, pulled her from the icy waters, but had he been fast enough.
Digging wet matches from his jacket, he struck one after another, trying for a spark.
“H-h-hurry,” Shan managed between chatters. He did.
Match after match failed him, falling onto cold brick beside dry paper. Hope fled. One match left. Last chance. Jimmy rolled it in his fingers and struck it on the box.
Author’s note: It is my first time here on Friday Fictioneers! Thank you for having me. Hopefully, you have found something here worth reading and will pass it on. Have a wonderful day!
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