No Point.

The water had ceased to bother her, and the bitter cold that lived like the marrow in her bones had been forgotten.  There is, after all, a limit to what one can feel.  The constant ache in her stomach had become bearable, and the almost total stiffness in her fingers was as normal as the bleak gray sky.  Snow fell, like the tiny hands of winter, onto her clothing, making her figure less human and more part of the building she sat against.  A few flakes landed on her face, icy needles just another pattern in the blanket of her everyday life.  She brushed them away, and people that walked by seemed startled.  That lump was a living person? Why didn’t it get up?  Why, she thought, a grimace tightening the harsh lines on her face.  And the only answer was one that she used to account for everything, even herself.  No point.  Two words that had destroyed the point.  Her life, her mind, her body, written off in two words that had been the only ones anyone could see.

    No point.

And why did she have any right to contest it?  She had come to believe that everyone else was right.  What was her purpose?  Anything she could have done wouldn’t have been much more than keeping the small piece of sidewalk dry.  She pulled her arms closer to her, trying to summon any tears that were left in her.  Ironic, she thought dully.  I’m covered in moisture, but can’t find any.  A small breath escaped her lips, jettisoning a small cloud.  She closed her eyes.  Who would care whether she lived or died?  She had spent her entire life fighting the words that had described her since before birth.

“She will have too many problems,” they said.  “There’s no point in trying.”

And after birth, as well.  

“She is too much work,” they said.  “There’s no point in keeping her.”

Even as she grew, trying desperately to make them see.

“You are failing,” they said.  “There’s no point in continuing.”

She had a point.  

“I’m sorry,” they said.  “There’s no point if I don’t love you.”

She had just forgotten what it was.

“I’m sorry,” they said.  “There’s no point in hiring you.”

And maybe it was her.

“I regret to inform you of your eviction,” they said.  “There’s no point if you can’t pay.”

Maybe she had failed.

“Go away,” they said.  “If you cause this much trouble, there is no point in letting you stay.”

But maybe.

“We’re full here,” they said.  “There’s no point taking in you in.”

They just needed to look closer.

“I have a point!” she screamed.  Passersby flinched, their gazes snapping in her direction and then looking away.

She had a point.

But for now, the only thing she could do right was to do nothing.  She was giving up.  It had to happen, and all those who had met her knew it would.  But she had tried so long to keep fighting, to win the battle.  Now she would leave, more quietly than she had entered.  One last puff of air came from her, before her breath stopped.  No one noticed. She was almost thankful to be done with it.

Because there is no point in breathing if the rest of you doesn’t work.