The wind bites my skin. I pull the ragged blanket tighter. A gentleman passes. The clink of a coin in my tin cup cuts through the street noise and my pride.
Once, we were many. Powerful. Humans prayed for our blessing, for gold buried beneath the rainbow.
Now there is no rainbow. Only darkness. Only me.
The last of my kind, begging for scraps. But today is Saint Patrick’s Day, and the streets run green with drink and sin. Let them dance and laugh beneath their paper shamrocks.
When the lights go out, they’ll remember what the old magic costs.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Vanished by T.J. Gallasch"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Ruins by David Albano"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Final Gift Before Joining Our Family by Katara J. Z."
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="O, Christmas Tree by S. Jade Path"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>