So I'm supposed to be doing English homework right now, some paragraph analysing some kind of Shakespeare thing, but my excuse is that my amazing teacher hasn't officially set the task yet on the homework website. Oh, that sounds bad, she's not amazing for not setting homework, I'm one of those annoying people who think it's actually important, but not an excessive amount, cuz that's stressful. I've learned to not be like "Yess!" When the teacher sets homework (especially when it's maths or creative writing) because 1. That's really sad but I used to do that 3 years ago and 2. People look at me like "What is this girl?" and that's awkward. I'm not trying to be popular, ugh, but you know, I don't, because popular people have so many expectations of them. I'm good being an invisible nerd with my cool uncool awkward amazing friend group. Anyway, my English teacher is so nice, you know, not nice like lenient, because in my opinion being really lenient isn't always so good, but you know, she's great. You know, when I'm a maths teacher (yes that's what I want to be), I'm literally gonna be the best teacher. Sorry for all the "you know", it's not how I talk normally, it's just an inside joke that I don't want to explain, which I wasn't involved in because I'm not one of the loud popular people in my class, but still found it funny. Also, go check out my friend, anonymousfriend27, who posted a pretty good… thing today. Yeah. She's cool. Okay enough rambling, just get on to the thing already.

I didn't think I could last the night. My bench is icy, and freezing, and brittle. All I can do is sit, and stare. At what? Literally nothing. I take a deep breath, my tattered oversized coat heaves, and crystal flakes tumble down, dancing in a miniature blizzard. Snow gathers in a deathly blanket, threatening to turn me into a human icicle. Wind tears and stabs at me like a thousand daggers. Hail, sleet, frost: they are all the same thing- my bitter enemies waging constant war on me.

People stroll past, hands in pockets, looking down. As usual, they don't notice me, invisible against the bench. And when someone does catch my eye, always by accident, it seems, they instantly look away furtively and quicken their pace, as if I have a terrible disease they can catch just by seeing me. No one stops. No one cares.

Most would view a snowy, freezing day as a playground. But the fluffy, velvet white curtains? Illusions. Snow is unforgiving, harsh, bitter. For me, a snowy day is a nightmare. For me, snow destroys. Because I cannot return to a home where scalding soup and creamy hot chocolate awaits. I don't have the luxury of watching crisp pieces of bread sail in the bowl, to devour their irresistible smoothness, soaked in steaming glory. Instead, I feel like a piece of drenched bread now, soggy and spent. Merciless iced east winds have frosted my heart, and I'm feral, barely surviving, on anything, and everything. Now, I wait for the misery of dawn.

Cold rushes to me before my eyes even open and I groan. After years of living homeless, I'm trained to sleep lightly, alert at the slightest sound. Today it's a child out walking with her mother. Swathed in wrappings of jackets, hats and gloves, their cheeks are rosy red and breath mists out in front of them. Despite the sub-zero temperature, the girl's eyes are bright and a broad grin stretches from ear to ear. She has striking fiery crimson hair, like a phoenix. "Snow!" She squeaks with glee, stomping her tiny boots. "Mummy! Snow!" The woman smiles wanly at her delighted laughter. She passes a thermos of soup to the girl, who spoons some into her mouth happily, but I can tell she's rushing, as if she can't wait to go and play with the snow. Then, she sees me. Eyes widening, she totters across the snow towards me tentatively. Her mother makes an involuntary jerk of her hand, as if to shoo her away from me. But the girl determinedly extends her hand, clutching the soup. Part of me wants to growl at her, but the innocence in her round hazel eyes is startling. Locking eyes with her, I slurp a mouthful of the soup. A delightful aroma of spices fills my nostrils. Next, an array of textures dancing across my tingling tongue, steaming and creamy. Its warmth starts to melt my heart. I haven't felt this good in so long. I smile at her and she smiles back, showing perfect white teeth. My cracked lips, unused to this facial expression, turn my smile into a grimace, but she seems to understand. And in that moment we share, burning hope sparks inside my chest like a blazing fire.

Since that moment nine years ago, she has visited me almost every day. Her name is Lillian, and since then she has blossomed into a beautiful young woman. She founded a place for the homeless, where I'm safe, with anyone else in need. As soon as I arrived here, I knew my life would change. And now, I look forward to tomorrow.

Hope you enjoyed and please leave a review! Well, you don't have to, but it would be appreciated.

Ok this is really random but I literally get so happy when I check my stats and see that people have actually looked at my stuff. It's so supportive and makes me want to carry on, so thanks guys!