Winter had hit its worst that year. A wild, violent storm whipped itself of winds and snow. temperature dropping faster and faster than any runner in the world. Bone and joints stiff. Blood lacking to keep the warmth inside useless to breath, cry, shed tears, and think. A human could have chances to find a haven. But for someone of a lower class, the chances slim with every second that goes by.

And all I can do is cry on the inside that this will end faster for me.

Death grip of black covers ones eyes. But for some reason, death was warm this time.