I lie beaten and bruised.

My blood dies the snow.

My wares have been stolen,

save a tiny hidden bag.

Now clasped in my shaking hand.

Tempting me.

I try to push myself up,

and fall pathetically down.

The tale of my life.

My pain grows.

I am colder with each moment.

I weakly clench my fists in frustration,

my fingernails grazing the ground underneath the snow.

Sharp needles poke through the bag

to scrape my hand.

I was almost there.

I almost earned enough.

But almost can save no one,

not me and not her.

And now I’m dying on the streets.

The pain is becoming overwhelming though strangely distant.

But the cold surrounds me

And I drown in it.

Silently, I beg for relief.

It’s too much.

I clumsily tear open the bag

Its contents spill onto the ground.

My trembling hands sift through the snow.

I sink the needle to the scarred skin of my wrist

and say goodbye.

Everything fades away.

For one precious moment.

I swim in warmth

and with a smile I...