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Description
(note: the only thing on here that is mine is the short story, thought i clear that up just in case)

The Cold Within

In this world there are events, actions, and random occurrences that happen to show lessons that humanity can't seem to learn any other way. This energy seems to want to prove humanities sin; it's weakness you can say. One such event happened on a shockingly cold night in January. On this night a bus was transporting six people to a transfer point in between two cities. Included were- an atheist, a religious man, a rich man, a poor man, a white man, and a black man. Little did they know that this energy had chosen them, even less did they know that the second bus that was scheduled to pick them up wouldn't be coming. Each one of these people had a seed of hate in their hearts and each second that passed that vile plant continued to grow. The religious man was in the front, as far from the atheist as he could be. The atheist was in the back thinking of the trades he could make in the next city. The rich man was also in the front believing the poor should stay out of his sight. The poor man sat in the back with his eyes burning a hole in the back of the rich man's head. The white man was the last one up front believing that the blacks shall always belong in the back. The black man was the last one in the back, the oppression from ancestors past burning in his eyes. As the bus started slowing down everybody looked out the window to see the transfer platform pull up along side of the bus. Everybody slowly made their way off the bus and watched as it pulled away from the platform until it was swallowed by the night. The rich man took out his cell phone to see how long he would be waiting before the next bus arrived but as he looked down he noticed there was no service. This struck him as odd as there was always good service at the platform. Something seemed strange about this night. The six men stood in silence for several minutes as the cold seeped through their bodies. At the same time, or so it seemed, they all shivered as the cold got to them. First the atheist started walking around trying to warm up and then the rest of them soon followed. As the religious man walked around he found a fire that must have been started by someone from a transfer earlier. He called the others, eyeing the atheist as he sat down. The religious man sat across from the atheist, the rich man across from the poor man, and the white man across from the black man. They sat around the fire warming up until it started dying down. They all stood up at the same time, or so it seemed, to go look for fire wood. They soon came back, each of them with a small log that they could feed the fire with. The white man was the first to move as to put the log on the dying fire but locked eyes with the black man and slowly moved his hand back. The black man rested his stick across his knees stroking it, entertaining thoughts of using it on the white man. The white man started doing the same. The poor man gave his tattered coat a hitch locking eyes with the rich man. Why should he give his stick to warm the idle rich? The rich man looked down his nose at the poor man. Why should he warm the lazy, shiftless poor? The religious man looked at the atheist, but couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick. The atheist looked around at the others--giving to those who gave was how he played the game. As the fire died from their sight the one in their eyes grew but did nothing to melt the ice in their soul. Hours later, the police found them all around the fire pit their hand still wrapped around their logs. Frozen in time to prove humanities sin they sat around that frozen fire. They died that cold night not from the cold without but from the cold within.

Edited by Sarah Wilkins

This short story is based on the poem "The Cold Within" by James Patrick Kenny. As follows:
Six humans trapped by happenstance in bleak and bitter cold
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told
Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back
For the faces round the fire, he noticed on was black

The next man looking cross the way, saw one not of his church
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch
The third sat in tattered clothes; he gave his coat a hitch
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor
The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from his sight
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game
Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin
They didn't die from the cold without, they died from the cold within.

Description
(note: the only thing on here that is mine is the short story, thought i clear that up just in case)

The Cold Within

In this world there are events, actions, and random occurrences that happen to show lessons that humanity can't seem to learn any other way. This energy seems to want to prove humanities sin; it's weakness you can say. One such event happened on a shockingly cold night in January. On this night a bus was transporting six people to a transfer point in between two cities. Included were- an atheist, a religious man, a rich man, a poor man, a white man, and a black man. Little did they know that this energy had chosen them, even less did they know that the second bus that was scheduled to pick them up wouldn't be coming. Each one of these people had a seed of hate in their hearts and each second that passed that vile plant continued to grow. The religious man was in the front, as far from the atheist as he could be. The atheist was in the back thinking of the trades he could make in the next city. The rich man was also in the front believing the poor should stay out of his sight. The poor man sat in the back with his eyes burning a hole in the back of the rich man's head. The white man was the last one up front believing that the blacks shall always belong in the back. The black man was the last one in the back, the oppression from ancestors past burning in his eyes. As the bus started slowing down everybody looked out the window to see the transfer platform pull up along side of the bus. Everybody slowly made their way off the bus and watched as it pulled away from the platform until it was swallowed by the night. The rich man took out his cell phone to see how long he would be waiting before the next bus arrived but as he looked down he noticed there was no service. This struck him as odd as there was always good service at the platform. Something seemed strange about this night. The six men stood in silence for several minutes as the cold seeped through their bodies. At the same time, or so it seemed, they all shivered as the cold got to them. First the atheist started walking around trying to warm up and then the rest of them soon followed. As the religious man walked around he found a fire that must have been started by someone from a transfer earlier. He called the others, eyeing the atheist as he sat down. The religious man sat across from the atheist, the rich man across from the poor man, and the white man across from the black man. They sat around the fire warming up until it started dying down. They all stood up at the same time, or so it seemed, to go look for fire wood. They soon came back, each of them with a small log that they could feed the fire with. The white man was the first to move as to put the log on the dying fire but locked eyes with the black man and slowly moved his hand back. The black man rested his stick across his knees stroking it, entertaining thoughts of using it on the white man. The white man started doing the same. The poor man gave his tattered coat a hitch locking eyes with the rich man. Why should he give his stick to warm the idle rich? The rich man looked down his nose at the poor man. Why should he warm the lazy, shiftless poor? The religious man looked at the atheist, but couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick. The atheist looked around at the others--giving to those who gave was how he played the game. As the fire died from their sight the one in their eyes grew but did nothing to melt the ice in their soul. Hours later, the police found them all around the fire pit their hand still wrapped around their logs. Frozen in time to prove humanities sin they sat around that frozen fire. They died that cold night not from the cold without but from the cold within.

Edited by Sarah Wilkins

This short story is based on the poem "The Cold Within" by James Patrick Kenny. As follows:
Six humans trapped by happenstance in bleak and bitter cold
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told
Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back
For the faces round the fire, he noticed on was black

The next man looking cross the way, saw one not of his church
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch
The third sat in tattered clothes; he gave his coat a hitch
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor
The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from his sight
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white

The last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game
Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin
They didn't die from the cold without, they died from the cold within.