Jaimee Lee

Little Black Book

The wind hit her face like hundreds of needles, her skin rose red and icy to the touch. “Warm thoughts, think warm thoughts,” she spoke softly to herself repeating this line as if by saying it enough would make it really happen. She laid curled in a fetal position bundled in a sleeping bag, her head on her backpack as a pillow and under two additional knitted blankets. The thick sleeping bag felt like a paper sheet under her as the cold concrete seeped through. The brick wall along the doorway of the library entrance had collected some heat during the daylight hours and created somewhat of a shield from the cold winds and traffic along the main road. It was a very cold winter this year but tonight was exceptionally cold compared to winter nights so far. It was February 1 and winter had practically just begun and at this point the cold concrete had been her bed for the last 4 months and 16 days already. It’s not that she hadn’t tried to find an alternative place to rest but circumstances did not seem in her favor this year. Another day passed and another night was taking over as she shivered into a deep, exhausted sleep.