She huddled beneath the miserly scraps of old newspaper that were her only protection against the raging winter's wind. Even as she tried to snuggle beneath its frail insulation, heat dissipated, dissolving into the chilly night sky.

It was Christmas Eve, but she felt no joy. A small cluster of teenaged carollers shuffled past her, giggling softly, lost in their own world. If they noticed her, they made no sign.

Stopping at the door of an apartment a block down the streets, the carollers began yet another rendition of an age-old Christmas carol. It was a beautiful carol, and the voices were smooth and clear, filling the frosty winter's night with a peaceful serenade, much like a steady stream of warm buttermilk.

The girl shivered, oblivious to the golden voices. She could hear no sound - not the voices of the brilliant choir, not the forceful howling of the wind. Nothing. She lived in a world of silence, a vaccuum of her very own.

As she laid recumbent in the dark corner of the alley, she raised her eyes and looked longingly at the carollers in the distance. She stared enviously at the snug trenchcoats they wore; fuzzy ones at that. How lovely it would be if she had something like that to call her own.

Another wave of chill coursed through the girl's body as she watched the movement of the lips of the young carollers. From the deep recesses of her mind, a tune appeared and played itself in her mind. It was one of the few tunes that she could still remember. Instinctively, she began to hum along to the music inside of her head. She did not know if what came out of her mouth resembled the gentle tune, only that with every effort, her larynx trembled lightly. She closed her eyes and let the slight tremblings continue. It was hypnotic and she almost forgot about the sharp wintry coldness biting into her skin. Almost, but not quite.

The first snowflakes made their lazy descent down to earth.