Midnight in Winter

It is midnight in the apex of a brutal winter season. City of Gaborone, Botswana.  Temperatures have dropped down many measurements below the zero degrees Celsius mark. Inside apartments, heaters and water geezers are running. Fireplaces are burning and warm blankets are spread over snug beds. Winter can be such comfort.

But outside, there is a man walking the deserted streets of this city. He sneezes and coughs. The howling wind whistles and whips frigid air against his face. He shivers and sniffles. A globule of phlegm is dripping down one of his nostrils. His feet have not felt the comfort of shoes in a very long time. The frozen feet cramp with every step he takes. The zip of the old and tattered denim jacket has malfunctioned. His hands pull at both sides of the jacket for warmth. Little impression is made. Then he spots a man hurrying across the street with a leather-case in his hands. He is walking towards a car parked just a few yards away.

            “Sir, can you help me?” the cold man with cold feet calls out. The man with the leather case glances at him, but does not stop. “It’s cold and I don’t know where to sleep. Is there somewhere you can show me?” the cold man asks.

            The man with the leather-case walks on without looking back again, pretending he cannot hear him. His car beeps. He opens the door and gets inside. The car squeals out of the parking lot. The cold man looks around. He spots a rubbish tank by a dingy streetlamp. A restaurant, he thinks. He totters to the container.

The wind growls. The cold bites.

He peers inside the bin. It is dark inside; the dim light from the streetlamp cannot reach in there. He sticks his hand inside, thinking, ‘there has to be a crump of bread or something in here.’ His hand touches something soft, a wet and sticky substance. He pulls. It is heavy. Cannot come out.  He takes out his hand. The hand is drenched. He lifts it up to the light and examines it. Blood. His hand is covered in blood. A dog barks in the distance. The cold man takes rapid steps backwards, away from the rubbish container.

The wind screams. The cold stings. The cold man sweats.