Cold.

We huddle together against the winds, trembling like leaves on a barren branch.
We cling to each other, cling to anything that is not snow.

We watch as our ranks lessen.
We watch with dry faces.
We have cried out all of our tears.
Some of us even pity the departed,
They are now somewhere safe.
Somewhere warm.

The children ask if we will die.
We can only answer “I don’t know.”
The only thing we have now is Hope,
And as the weeks draw on, we begin to lose even that.

We think of the people we left behind.
We think of the people who wait ahead.
We regret our choices, but what good does regret do when your children are dying?
When your siblings are dying.
When you are dying.

Now, not even the children can shed tears for their fallen playmates.
We eat anything that is not bolted down.
We eat the dead
Burials are pointless for we do not believe in heaven anymore.