Carol was sitting next to the window and watching snowflakes dancing gracefully. She loved snowflakes and admired their fragile beauty.

It was cold outside. Her room was cold as well. The walls of the house resembled ice blocks, and if you touched them, you risked gluing your hand to their cold surfaces.

Downstairs, Carol’s parents were fighting. There was no money, and they couldn’t buy food or pay the bills. Carol’s father preferred sitting in the pub and drinking instead of working, and her mother had some strange illness that appeared once in a while and made her head jerk crazily and her body scream. When that illness possessed her, she broke glasses, plates, furniture, anything that was in her way. And for Carol, it was better to stay away from her, otherwise she would end up with bruises. No one wanted to employ Carol’s mother, and therefore, Carol, the eight-year-old blonde girl, was the one who had to provide money.

Her parents sent her to the streets, squares, touristic areas to beg for money. And if she didn’t bring as much as they expected, she got not only slaps, but her father used his belt to punish her as well. Not only did her cheeks get red, but she had red stripes all over her tiny body. And since she was skinny without much muscle or fat, her bones suffered. As years went by, she got used to these punishments, and they were not painful anymore. She didn’t expect them reluctantly but indifferently, as if they had been some normal routine.

In the summertime, the streets were swarmed with people, smiling and buying ice cream, sodas, coffee and tea. The laughter echoed through the public square and happy children ran along the pavements. Carol was luckier in summer. She usually collected more money. But she loved winter more. She loved the tingling coldness that tightened her skin and the steam that came out of her mouth with every breath. She loved the snow that covered the roofs and hills, and the sparrows who looked for food on the windowsills. Some kind people left breadcrumbs on their windowsills, and the sparrows gathered to eat them and say their chirping thank yous. Carol loved evenings when the snowflakes fell down dancing elegantly through the cold air. They were not in a rush to hit the ground since they knew it meant their deaths. At a leisurely pace, they moved through the air following the rhythm of the sleepy town and letting Carol enjoy the show.

Coldness didn’t bother her. Maybe her body felt it, but her heart was warm, warm due to this spectacular scene of dancing snowflakes. However, there were not many people on the streets and those who passed by usually had their heads covered and they fixed their gazes to the path they followed, afraid that they might slip on the ice, stumble, and fall. Therefore, barely anyone noticed the little blonde girl in the shabby coat without a hat, scarf or gloves. She was not persuasive and she didn’t run after people. She was thankful for the small mercies of those who felt sorry for her and gave her some money, but she never asked anyone more than once. If someone turned around avoiding her and had no intention of giving her even a coin, she felt the shame, the shame that she was doing this, asking for money. She got used to it since she had done it for so long, but it never felt good or right.

That evening, while she was sitting in her cold room and watching the snowflakes, she knew that soon she would have to stop watching the beautiful scene through the window and go out on the streets. When the angry voice of her father called her, she immediately stood up and obediently ran down to her parents’ room. Not many words were exchanged between them. Her father threw the only coat she had at her and told her not to come back until she had a decent amount of money.

She didn’t feel sad or desperate. She didn’t care if she collected enough money that evening since she had already made her decision. That night, she would not come back home. For once, she would let herself do whatever she wanted. And she wanted to go to the riverbank and watch the boats cruising along the river while the snowflakes fell down. The river was far and it would take an hour of walking to get there, but she was not in a rush. She had the whole night.

The night was cold and it was snowing heavily. Her clothes got wet, but she was walking fast and it made her feel warm. Only her ears suffered since they were exposed to the cold air. They were red as well as her nose. But she didn’t care. That night, she decided, she would handle whatever was necessary to enjoy the spectacle on the river bank. Once she reached the riverbank, she found a dry spot under the bridge and sat there on the cardboard sheet to watch the boats. The lights and the snow blended, creating shades of white and yellow. There were not many people around and she could peacefully enjoy her solitude. After an hour of watching the boats and snowflakes, she started feeling cold and sleepy. Some strange tiredness overwhelmed her, and the wet clothes pressed to her tiny body carried her into sleep. She lay down on the cardboard sheet and passed out.

The next morning, the riverbank cleaners found the little girl under the bridge. She fell asleep and entered the world of dreams, never to wake up again. But she had a smile on her face, as if she had wanted to tell them that she was happy in that her world of dreams.

And she really was happy. What those cleaners or anyone else didn’t know was that she had become a beautiful snowflake, the one that never dies, the one that keeps falling down while dancing gracefully and then reawakening in her white dress to dance the same dance all over again.

In winter, when the snow starts falling and the night is crisp and beautifully quiet, look up and you will see her; she is the brightest and the prettiest snowflake. And her splendid pirouette swirling in the winter breeze will enchant you with its magic charm.