I wake up to the golden sunlight pouring onto my face. I stretch and slowly blink as I see a blanket of whiteness twinkling before my eyes.
I realise this is what people call snow.
I slowly get up, pushing my legs over the side of the bed. The soft blanket slides down the bedcovers with my thin, weak body. The bed springs back up as I take my weight off the bed and trudge to get dressed.
The heavy cloth on my back slides down. I pull it up, knowing that the air outside is almost freezing.
I step outside into the thick snow, my heavy boots sinking. I tug them and continue to my old wooden bench, which sags a little bit under the heavy pile of snow on top of its aged, dear wood.
The wood creaks as my weight sinks unto the aged material.
I close my eyes and think. Think about my long, long life of which I will soon leave, and the dear daughters of mine who left me and went elsewhere, and the memories that will always remain in my heart.
I dream about being one of the snowflakes dancing through the sky. With significance. With individuality.
I'll have to try harder in the few more days of life.
YOU ARE READING
Hope
General FictionI don't want to give up. My soul's still struggling. But my body, my weak, thin body, is holding me back from believing. Believing that I'm me, and no one can change it.
