A small child sat on the cold concrete of the sidewalk. The cold wind bit his flesh through the rips of his jacket and pants. His messy long hair danced a tango with the blowing wind of winter.
In the light of the moon, the child saw people walk by him without a glance, they walked like the child was water, and they were a suit of water proof clothes. The cars drove by, and the people could hear their engines roaring throughout the buildings. "But it's because these people have their own probloms," it is what the child thought to himself every time another person walked by, acting like his eyes didn't work, and his ears were busted. But the child still held his cardboard, and he still held his bottle of spray paint. "Dear santa, I hear all these children bragging about what they got from you, I hear their voices through the windows of their houses under the moonlight," thought the child. "And I wonder why have you forgotten me. Is it because of my luck from the number of kids there are in this world, and I just so happen to be forgotten every year? Or am I on the naughty list?" Thought the child.
"Because I want to know, because I do not want to feel like the sight I see when my eyes are closed, darkness. Only at times the darkness is the world around me, and I am in the center, nobody wants to be around me, nobody wants to be in darkness," thought the child. "Santa I am falling deeper in this lonely void, almost like I am too dark to be seen, because the human eye can't see through darkness. I feel like that is what I am, they can't see me because I am drowning in the nothingness of darkness that is around me," thought the child. "And it's so cold.'
Soon the boy popped out of his thoughts. He looked at his cardboard, and wrote this. "Dear santa, what I want for Christmas is a treasure map, so I won't be out in the cold, and I can buy myself a mansion!"
ns 15.158.61.20da2
