Fiction

I woke up, my feet brushing against the carpet as I pushed out of bed. Beside my uniform, my Luminor glowed a steady green, brightening as I shook off sleep.

For a businesswoman, she is very kind. She is the winter giving her hand to autumn as they trade places. Autumn stands back and watches Winter do her work, covering Autumn's leaves and grass until everything is white, white, white.

The man stopped, bending over, weeping until his tears seemed to fill a gaping hole in his heart he had not noticed was there.

This is a retelling of a short story I wrote in 2023 for a blizzard challenge prompt! 
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He is waiting for his ride at the entrance of his office building. The automatic light near the lobby is broken, so the only light is far down the hallway. He leans against the brick wall.

If anyone could give me detailed-ish advice about this short story I want to submit to a contest, please do. I'd appreciate anything. Thank you! Now the story (It's quite morbid/toxic if anyone does not like those topics):

Who did it, and why does it always sound like my name? 

Somewhere, there is this little dock stretching out over a lake, where the clouds swim in the golden ripples of the rock I have skipped across its surface.

When I was five, I remember running across an open field on some warm summer day. We were flying kites, and I chased the one shaped like a bird, imagining I was flying right with it.

The air tasted like rust and regret.

“Greetings, loyal subjects...I understand there is some grumbling amongst you regarding the state of your lives.” The king addressed the large crowd that had gathered in front of his royal palace.