Lost and found

//

The sky was black and the once warm air ran cold. Shivers sprawled down the spine of every person who dared to walk this tortured night. But one figure stood still, unaffected by the oncoming storm. As if mother natures icy hands forgot to run her cold fingers across the figures face, they stood warm, up straight, and looking directly at the house in front.

The road was empty and silent, every house was sound asleep along with its inmates. The houses were tall and overcrowding, making the neighborhood look like a nightmare in the cold winter air. All was silent, the only noise was the whilisting wind, slapping against the trees warning its victims of the oncoming storm.

Suddenly a crying sound erupted from the basket the figure held.

As if the figure jolted awake, it ran to the doorstep, placing down the basket that held what seemed to be a screaming child wrapped tight in a thick blanket, and left three heavy knocks on the door before running back into the darkness, leaving the street deserted,

apart from the baby that lay on the doorstep of 7, avenues end.