Not even Christmas and New York was enwrapped in a blizzard. The streets were all devoid of life except for the small black figure that swayed as it walked. This embodiment of filth teetered across the cobblestones, holding a thin rag tightly between its chapped hands and thin arms. A fast gust of wind sent the figure tumbling to its knees and brushed the only source of warmth from its body. The thin rag those chapped hands were trying so desperately to cling to had floated up to the sky and drifted somewhere down the block but looked miles away to the sad eyes of this child. A girl was now revealed, trying rigorously to crawl towards an alley on all fours, grasping at her head as the world spun around her. Latching on to the icy stones beneath her, she worked her way towards the alley she had spotted moments before. The wind stopped in the closed area and only small sprinklings of snowdrifts lined the side of the alleyway. The girl curled up close to her ragged skirt and held onto her self and waited for morning to come, too weak to move but too scared of never waking up to let her self fall asleep.