Warm hands

January 4, 2010
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Hungry and cold, today started like none other. The moth-eaten blanket wrapped around my legs had slipped off while I slept, revealing my gaunt shallow cheeks to strangers walking by. I pulled it off of my knobby legs and folded into a neat blanket at my feet, exposing the half-eaten loaf of bread hidden among the folds. I picked it up and played with the rough stale crust for a moment or two, before breaking off a piece and sliding it into my mouth. I stood up, taking my blanket with me, and started my usual gander around the block. Feeding the birds was a good past time, it kept you in check. Made you remember that other living things needed to eat as well, and that somewhere, someone has it worse than you do. I broke off a healthy portion and tossed it towards some pigeons nearby who swallowed their breakfast in one greedy gulp. A stranger walked past; a girl in her mid-teens, we made eye contact for a brief moment. She walked past, they all do. I don’t waste time on people anymore. I had time to spend with my winged friends, and that’s all that mattered. I figured that if I took care of them, someone is bound to take care of me one day. I hoped at least. I turned around to meet eye to eye with the girl. She couldn’t be more than 15, her pale complexion was patchy and translucent, but it reflected more light than it absorbed. Outstretched in her hands was a pair of gloves. Her eyes were light green and vibrant, she looked nervous and perplexed at her own boldness. She asked me if I would accept the gloves. I said of course, and accepted them without hesitation. I thanked her for her kindness, and she went on walking. That night, I went to bed a little bit lighter than most. Thank you.

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