This is my entry for the picture prompt comp, about the reality of the snow to the average homeless person on a London street.


1. Cold

It was dark. Cold. Tiny snowflakes the size of babies' finger nails fluttered down onto the chewing gum covered ground. Some people would call it romantic, but I call it deadly. In fact, I could spot about a dozen couples holding hands, kissing, leaning over the bridge above the frozen Thames: loving life. They couldn't see me. Even if they were standing right in front of me, they still wouldn't look. People blanked me out. Pretended I didn't exist. That's the thing about being a homeless teenager. Londoners freeze me out, as if I'm going to knife them or something. People think I'm dodgy. But I'm just cold. I remember being a little kid, and being so excited about the winter's first sprinkling of snow that I almost couldn't stand myself. But now I dread it. Snow is the difference between me being alive or dead. But do people care? No. Everyone is cold in this city, in every way possible.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...