So here's the end of my story. No miracle; no superhero to save the day; no happy ending. As the writer of now writes the last words, I breathe my last inky breaths. All I was was an inky letter in God's big masterpiece. Now, I have finished my role, and the story goes on. I was always too small to make a difference, too helpless to be noticed and given a chance.
Bleeding into the crisp January snow, I stained the blank white page with my own red ink.