Writing Exercises: Keep Moving

I huddled in the doorway, pulling my legs to my chest and my hoodie down over them. I shivered from the cold and the damp from the rain pouring from the sky. It never stopped raining; it made it hard to stay dry and even harder to sleep. My breath froze into crystals as it escaped my mouth. I should have gone to the shelter, but they always asked too many questions; they always wanted to know the details of your life, and I didn’t feel like opening up to complete strangers and then attending a group prayer. But nights like this, I wished for the warm bed at home, for the sounds of my younger siblings playing and my parents arguing about me, for a familiar place instead of this doorway that had become my home. That was until the cops spotted me. They’d kick my shoe, wake me up, and tell me to keep moving. The problem was, I never had any place else to go.