And the all seeing eye keeps watching..
Thanks guys..I have taken on your comments and changed it up a little. Most of it is the same though, not a total rewrite. I Hope it has improved all the same xx
The silent, invisible, bitter winter air enveloped Jane's body, gnawing away at her already chewed up, tobacco stained fingers. She exhaled slowly and watched her breath transform to frost before it slowly dissipated back into the night air. She drew in another breath and let it out hard and sharp, moving her jaw around trying to make a love heart shape. It didn't work. Perhaps a shot of whisky would keep her warm until her next hit? If Willie was in a sharing mood that was. She needed a shot of something anyway, the musty stench of hot dogs mingled with mulled wine coming from the Christmas market was sending nauseating convulsions through her stomach. It was all she could do not to gag. This was her third, and by far the harshest winter in the cardboard haven of street living. Death dodging. 'Deck the halls' came screeching out of the nearest shop and the street was a bustle of Christmas shoppers carrying wrapping paper and tinsel. But they didn't see her. She couldn't think, feel, see them, not really, not outside her wafer-wooden safe haven. But she did see him. Her frozen breath was stuck in her throat and frozen tears lingered stubbornly behind her grey-blue eyes. Why was he walking past without a care? He looked right at her but didn't see. Couldn't see through her snail shell home and emaciated frame. Maybe he'd forgotten all about her. His only daughter. She tried to speak, call out, reach. Nothing worked. She was frozen. Inanimate like the snowman at the park across the road. He saw the snowman though, he didn't see her. Too late, he was gone. She felt her heartbeat run away from her and shrank back into her cocoon like a dormant caterpillar. Words had escaped her. she'd forgotten how to talk, just like he'd forgotten her. All you ever needed to say in her little bubble of a world was 'any spare change?' She'd even stopped saying that a long time ago. She had sat with a vacant face for months now, with the words etched on cardboard by a thrown away bookie's pen. One day she would turn over that leaf anew and mutate from caterpillar to butterfly. Reawaken. Not today though. Today it was too cold to change.