September 9, 2008
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The wind howled around my hovel, and I clung to myself tighter as I tried in vain to block out the noise and the pain.

My toes were numb and the rest of my body was losing feeling as the elements blew in through the tears in my box. It was entirely possible that this was what it felt like to die. And if it was, then I prayed the episode would end quickly and my body could be relieved of the suffering it didn't deserve.

It had not been long since I had been seperated from the life that I had grown accustomed to. And I was not yet ready to face such isolation when it hit me. So it was with a regretful heart that I huddled pitifully in this very spot, alone and dying.

People rarely ventured near what I had claimed as my own, though for the reasons I was never quite sure. It could have been my emaciated body and tired eyes that drove them off. Or the fact that I was homeless and dirty, and nobody dared pretend I was worth anything.

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