Their clothes were un washed and ragged, Their eyes sunken and desperate. Quietly they whispered in the wretched dark while they shivered consistently, they were in the mercy of the treacherous cold. One of the women held a baby tightly in her arms as if trying to shield it from the terrors of the world. Another woman was cuddling another child who's hair was knotty and long. The child's face was red from tears or she had a fever of some sort. Probably both.

They slumped against the wall, they'd given up on god. If god were a person the people thought, he'd be an executioner. God made us and god greets us at the end of life yet we forgive them for the suffering they've made us endure. If god was kind, they'd of made suffering not a thing that a human would have to feel.

"Splash splosh splash": someone washing thier clothes in a reflective puddle further down the alleyway. Quickly, a man rushed to join the woman washing her clothes as she had fallen down. The woman would never get back up. I suppose god will say sorry to her for what they have made of her life, i suppose the woman will forgive god and they will relax in heaven together. The man sobbed, wails echoed through the alleyway. The woman's children gathered around thier mothers body and started crying, too. 

"Splutter splutter" coughed a young boy who was only seven at most. Death lingered on his shoulder like a vulture by a dying mouse. But i suppose god will say sorry to the young boy aswell and i suppose the young boy goes to heaven, only if he doesn't give up on god.

My mother squeezed my hand slightly and pulled me away from "these people" she called them. So i replied "yes mother" and we made are way onto a carriage.