The coldness chilled her bones, but she’d become numb to its effects. She went through the motions but felt nothing
anymore. Her gnarled fingers rubbed
against each other above the flames stretching out from the trash can. Her tattered hat was pulled down around her
ears but provided no warmth as the cloth was barely holding together. Only the dirt and filth kept it from falling
apart. She smelled worse than the rotted
trash burning in the can. The liquid from
the drainpipes was more green sludge than water so there was no way to get
clean, even if that mattered to the broken and battered souls existing in that
dead end space.
Hopelessness oozed from the creatures huddled around the trash
cans, desperate to feel something. The frigid
winter was dragging on. Cloudy days
drifted into dark, icy nights. The sun
had disappeared long ago as did the warmth and hope it brought. Agnes couldn’t remember the last time she
felt anything. For years she had
complained about not having enough; not enough money to buy the things she
wanted, not enough time to herself to do what she wanted, not enough appreciation
from her husband and children for all the sacrifices she made for them. So many years spent complaining, never
satisfied with what she had, never happy with her life. Then as she got older, her
children grew up and moved out on their own, her husband died, and she was left
alone. She had plenty of money now to
buy all the things she wanted. She had
plenty of time to herself to do whatever she wanted. Instead, she sat at home feeling sorry for
herself. Everyone had left her. No one there to talk to, or eat a meal with,
or to hug.
How did she end up here? This desolate place with lost souls, drained of all hope. How did this happen?
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