The chill in the air was icy as wind whipped through the alley, hard enough that the delicate crystals of snow became stinging. Inside the alley, back past a half full dumpster, the wind ruffled a pile of papers and trash. Yet even as the breeze passed, the papers continued to rustle.
Laughter spilled down the alley, bouncing off the walls like bells. The sound of it lingered in the air, a touch of magic in a dreary world. The papers rustled again, and then a few fell away, revealing a dirt obscured face covered in matted, greasy hair. Crusty lids opened and foggy eyes, a piercing blue, looked up. They tracked the gently falling snow, before one grubby hand reached out to let a single flake drift to his finger. He stared at it, a flicker of remembered joy making his eyes sparkle.
He dragged his eyes away and looked at the figure crouched before him, leaning lightly on a crooked staff. The young man's smile was genuine and sweet. He didn't seem to notice the cold, even as the bum wrapped his arms tighter and tried not to notice the bone deep ache that seemed to be a part of him any more.
"Are you him?"
"Who am I meant to be?" Asked the white haired boy.
"Death," the man breathed, his exhalations freezing into clouds that hung in the air like silver confetti.
The young man cocked his head, his expression compassionate. "Not I, no. Soon though, I expect. Would you welcome her?"
The man's head rocked weakly from side to side. "I fear it."
The pale boy scowled. "That will not do. I can help take that away," he waved a hand in the air and the snow swirled into patterns of butterflies and fireworks. "It's something of a specialty of mine. Would you like that?"
The man stared in wonderment at the dancing images. He nodded his head and the boy flashed a sparkling grin at him.
"You might feel a little bite of cold, but only for a moment, I vow." He leaned in to the mans face and blew a dusting of frost. The man gasped , then settled back. As a delicate lace of frost began to crawl across his beard and cheeks he suddenly smiled.
"I feel warm," he murmured.
"The cold can feel that way sometimes, in the end," the pale boy stood. The dirty man stared at him in awe.
"Are you an angel," he croaked.
"No," the boy said, "just Jack." He delicately touched the man's cold cheek. "You can sleep now. You don't need to be afraid any longer."
"Thank You," whispered the man as his eyes began to slip shut. The last thing he saw was the boy's bare feet as he rose into the snowy sky.