He clapped his gloves together in a clomp, trying to feel his fingers, if not his hands. It had been colder, yet this cold wormed into the spaces between his bones, making it hard to make a fist. He wanted to clinched his hand and scream, no more!
Everyone dead. First his wife, then a daughter, and finally a son. He watched his wife sputter away until life, hope, and love went out of her eyes. The children lived in other parts, and he wasn’t there when they died. He thought he would be first. Not so lucky.
He lost his house. Took to standing with a sign, “Homeless. Hungry. Anything Will Help.” The sign also a failure. He felt the pain settle inside. He took to sitting in the park.
Right now, he only felt cold. He closed his eyes and rested his arms on his knees.
A small hand tugged on his sleeve. He opened his eyes to see a girl holding a cheese and bologna sandwich. He smelled it. She pushed the sandwich his way. Her eyes were green. A small glove balanced the sandwich. Yellow mustard stained the glove. He unclasped a hand and accepted the gift.
The child grabbed her father’s leg, peering at the old man, waiting for him to speak.
“It’s good,” said the beggar. “Thank you.”
The girl smiled and turned into the pant leg. Her father’s large hand pulled her closer. He played with her bangs.
The old man looked up at the father. A tear rolled down his cheek. The dad smiled and the old man shook away his own tears.
As he finished the sandwich, he felt warm. It really wasn’t such a terrible day.
© 2019, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.
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