Knitting Therapy

Blood/Pavement

He couldn't feel his toes, his fingertips. All he could feel was the frigid concrete against his back and the warmth of blood spilling over his hands. The seconds of his life were counted in hot and cold. He worried that his friends... family... were in the same cocoon of cold that called him. Sleep, finally, rest he richly deserved, even if he was too young. What use would sleepless nights be if the Real Thing was bleeding heat on the cold pavement behind him? The warmth was fading, and he didn't know if it was worth fighting the cold.