The wind whispered through the dark, empty trees like a warning in a foreign language. Winter was coming, and with winter came more than just chilly weather, snowflakes, and Christmas carols. With it came the hardships of life. I walk down the empty street, past the same lamp post that flickers in the cold when the wind ruins the cables. Past the abandoned children's playground, the slide covered in snow. On the once grass area, where children used to play tag and touch football, now resides snowmen of all sizes, little dots of coal for eyes and stick arms. Some have scarves of dirt, and a few even have carrot noses. Some children that I know run by, yanking off the carrots before skittering off again, nowhere to be seen. I would see them again soon.

My back is weighed down with a heavy burden. My backpack is laden full of canned food. I adjust the straps on my shoulders, which scream in protest as the strap is once more replaced. No weight can be removed until I am home. I dare to step out into the street without first looking to see if cars approached. The streets were deserted, none were bold or stupid enough to be out on the icy streets. Yet here I am. My feet slip and slide on the slick pavement, compliments of my worn out shoes. No traction, whatsoever. Only a few people walk by, bags clasped in their hands. Some carry decorations for the season. Others carry food to cook for their families when they were to get home. Like me. Others contained goodies for the kids, not to be seen until December 25, a mere five days away. Last minute gift shopping. I glance at the toy store only a few doors down. There in the window, is the doll. The only thing on my little sisters Christmas list to Santa. It doesn't do anything special, doesn't walk or talk or eat or laugh. All it does is sit there. Nothing fancy, just a rag doll. She's wanted it for a while now. I peer into the window of the store. All kinds of beautiful things are inside. Parents wander inside, looking at lists that their kids had most likely written. A checklist, no doubt. I place my backpack on the floor in front of me and pull out my wallet. My own wallet. I have nine dollars even. I've been saving for months it seems, spare change, odd jobs people are willing to give a twelve-year-old. Nine dollars. I glance in at the window. The doll is seven dollars. I cringe at the price. I could very well find the materials to make a doll for cheaper! But I know that it will make her happy. I reluctantly walk into the store, hear the bell ring. Most of the people inside turn to stare at me. I'm not exactly sure why, I look just like them, only younger, maybe wetter. I remember to wipe my feet on the doormat before taking another step. I find the section with all the dolls, and pick out the best looking one. I walk timidly to the counter, there is surprisingly no line. I give the doll to the shopkeeper. She rings it up. The total comes out to eight dollars and fifty-nine cents, with tax. I almost say nevermind. I almost turn and walk out of the store. But I can't. It's Christmas. I instead reluctantly place all nine dollars on the counter. She gives me my change. Forty-one cents. She then hands me the doll, which I shove into my backpack. I nod my thanks to her, then walk out of the store, some adults turning to stare at me. Some whisper things to their gossip partners. I pretend not to hear them.

So my journey begins again. I walk back outside and feel the cold hit me like a truck. The wind has definitely kicked up a notch. It's also begun to snow, lightly. I need to hurry home, my sister would be waiting. I try to wrap my jacket tighter around myself, but the wind simply blows it open again. If only my zipper wasn't broken. I guess I've lost this battle. Nature one, Maria zero. For now. I keep walking until I reach the new housing development. I pass all the houses by. I pass by the windows with the open curtains. Inside, each house has a Christmas tree. A fire in the fireplace. A happy family. I know when I get home, there will be none of this. Maybe a tree. I could never be sure. A tree! That would be perfect! I start to look inside the trashcans of all the people. Looking for the tree trimmings. Sure enough, one neighbor has cut off an extremely large amount of branches. I take my hair down out of its ponytail and wrap the branches together with the rubber band. It does look vaguely like a miniature Christmas tree. Julie would be happy. I keep walking, occasionally slipping, and just barely regaining my balance before it was too late. That's when I see it. My home. I head towards it. Never has it looked so inviting. I head inside, all the people waving at me as I pass. I know them all by name. The cold doesn't leave, there are no doors to hold in the heat. No heater to warm us that reside here. I head up to the third level, where I live. At the far end. The corner. My sister. Julie, sits inside her sleeping bag, holding onto the book I had gotten her last year. She can read it perfectly now, word for word. She sees me, and gets up, running to me. She wraps me in a hug that warms my soul. She starts to shiver, so I head over to my sleeping bag, as she gets back into her own. I wrap my only blanket around myself, absorbing what little warmth I could at the moment. My mom sits in the corner, away from us, staring at the people living a few feet away, without a wall. I tell my sister to close her eyes and hold out her hands. She obeys immediately. I place the doll into her waiting hands. Before her eyes even have a chance to open, she seems to know exactly what she is holding. She can't hide her gasp of delight. When she opens her eyes, she is not disappointed. She lets out a little cry of happiness, then tackles me in a hug, happy tears flowing down her face. It was all worth the eight dollars and fifty-nine cents. While Julie plays with her new doll, I show the food to mother. She doesn't speak, doesn't even look at it. Doesn't even look at me. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to anymore. I'm used to it. I leave my backpack at her feet and place my pine branches in the corner. A perfect tree, to me only. I then stand and turn to look out the window. The window with no glass. Out of my parking structure home that I shared with many others. I feel a gust of wind pass by. The wind whispers through the dark, empty trees like a warning in a foreign language. Winter is coming, and with winter comes more than just chilly weather, snowflakes, and Christmas carols. With it came the hardships of life. With it came the hardships of being homeless.