So This Is Happy

Hey guys! Hop you really enjoy this one, put a lot of work into it. As before, criticism is welcomed for improvement:) Hope you enjoy!

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As the cold pushed through my veins, I could tell this was it. That this was how it ended for me, cold and poor and alone. But heck was I happy. I was so, so happy. And even though I'm currently in Central Park, sitting on a bench beneath some statue of something that no one cares about, freezing to death as it continues to snow...I could not feel happier. 

Allow me to explain a bit...

One week ago, as the storm first hit New York, I was outside. I was sitting on this very park bench, with my teeth chattering as another gush of ice-like wind pushed against my face. It felt like tiny bullets were pelting my face, the pain they brought spreading through my body as if it were blood flowing  in my veins.  Another gust came, blowing my hood off of my head, and exposing my eras to the bitter cold air. I cursed under my breath in barely contained frustration.

This sucks, I thought to myself, everything sucks. This nightmare that is my life sucks, being homeless sucks, living on a park bench sucks, going to sleep hungry sucks, and freezing to death in a thin hooded-sweatshirt sucks. But what could I do? Don't tell me the whole 'being optimistic about the future' speech. I'd heard it before, but it's not happening. Nothing happy, or good, was going to come out of my life. Nothing was going to change for me; I was going to die and old, homeless man on the streets that everyone thought was creepy. That's my future. Miracles don't happen in real life and I wasn't about to waste my time hoping for one.

It seemed like hours had passed as I sat there, trying to contain some body-heat in the blistering wind and the thick, heavy snow that fell in clumps around me. Juts as I started to drift off, finally able to escape this nightmare of barren snow and ice, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, squinting to try and make out the details of the person who loomed over me. Whoever they were, they appeared homeless. Tattered coat, old, dingy scarf, and a hat with holes in it made up their second-hand ensemble. They looked to me in the same boat as me. Suddenly, they grabbed my arm with an iron grip, and for a split second, I was scared. Getting kidnapped by a strange homeless person in the middle of a park didn't sound fun at the time. Then I figured there was nothing they could do to me that was worse than what I was going through. So when they started walking, their grip on my arm remaining, I followed.

We zigzagged through allies, down street, and walked for what felt like eons in the frigid weather. The wind nipped at my thread-bare sweater, biting at the exposed skin of my face and hands like little knives. Snow crunched under foot as we exited the metropolitan area, entering less cluttered, more wide-spread side streets with small little bungalows and town houses.  Finally after what felt like an eternity of stumbling through snow banks, we stopped at a chipped and faded, wood, red door. My guide knocked on the door, finally releasing my arm with some difficulty seeing as they had started to stick with the ice, and I reached out to grab their shoulder.

"They won't let you in," I said, knowing from experience that if you knocked on a random door begging for a warm place to stay, no one would comply.

Sure enough, I was ignored, and they kept on knocking. As if by luck, the door was cracked open and we were let inside without a word. Once inside, with warmth flooding through my body, I looked around the room. There was some old furniture, a couch, a table and chairs-all worn and faded from years of good use-and many sleeping bags, scattered around the wood flooring. All around the room were candles, providing the only light in the whole house. Through a doorway I could see a kitchen, with stacks of canned food lining the counters, along with bottled water. I turned back around, and noticed the many people in the main room. All dressed in worn, beaten clothing, their hair cuts choppy and uneven. They looked like me. They looked exactly like me, they were all homeless.