Another cold dark night. Another storm buffets the flimsy walls that threaten to collapse against the next gentle breeze. The conditions of this hovel are insufficient to keep in any warmth. The subfreezing temperatures easily permeate throughout the shoddy dwelling. How any living creature could feasible bear to stay here, let alone survive for a few days is inexplicable.

But here he is. With every exhaled breath, the vapors from his mouth are outlined in a very visible fashion. That is merely one more showing of the paltry amount of heat left within him. As his body violently shivers in a futile attempt to keep warm; his teeth continue to rattle against each other, emitting an ominous sound as if he were shaking down to his very bones.

The howling of the wind remains evident and even seems to increase in pitch. The storm seems to have no ending in sight, bolstered by its infinite stamina and the encouragement it receives from the howl. Like a bully eyeing its toy, preparing to go in for the kill, so too does the storm patiently wait for him to give in. He cannot last much longer against a stronger more experienced foe.

Yet, all is not lost. In a small corner within the wretched void of the dark room remains a single light, a bastion against the pervading darkness. The little white candle proudly stands tall, even in the midst of such adversity. The flame that stands atop the pillar of hope shines its light to all corners of the tiny place. And with the light, a weak but noticeable emission of heat can be felt.

He’s been watching this precarious source of warmth for quite some time now, anxiety plastered all over his face, not knowing when the inevitable should happen: the extinguishing of the flame. He craves it, needs it, depends on it to get him through this despairing time. But all he can be certain about is the uncertain life expectancy remaining for this precious little stalwart of his.

12.24.08, 3.15-3.50pm