The Girl in the Black Raincoat

It's cold, so very, very cold. The brittle wind only exaggerates the sharp drops of rain upon my face; with each gust comes another wave of tiny daggers into my skin. I don't know where to go. The misty scent takes me back to nights spent by the fireplace enjoying a steaming drink to warm me up after splashing aroung the puddles in the yard; or atleast it would if I wasn't freezing. The rain is getting heavier, a crack like a whip sounds through the air. Looking around the unfamiliar and unwelcoming streets, I settle on huddling for warmth against an alley wall. A lone tree blows in the wind, offering some extra white noise besides the rapid pit-pats of the rain. My pained breath comes out white into the air. I look up at the sky, dark as smoke feeding off of a house, until the sky blurs into a face. A girl, staring down at me, her raincoat the color of the depths of the ocean that birthed the storm. She's dry. Without an umbrella, the girl in the black raincoat is completely dry. She smiles, then slowly removes her coat, revealing the mist that makes up her skin. Her features and form are too blurred to tell what she would look like with a solid body. She places the coat upon my shoulders, and as she fades away the cold and misery retreats from my body, replaced by the feeling of nothing. My body feels weightless and useless, my senses only able to pick up on the rain as it falls on a dull, gray world. My existence is now merely as another freshly born girl in a black raincoat.