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Frogs still croaked in the nearby ponds, and crickets chirped in the crisp, chilly air. Fog blanketed the atmosphere, making it difficult to see the far end of the street.

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The street was dimly lit, with only a few streetlights flickering. The rest had lost power due to some electrical faults.

I stretched my arms and legs, warming up before hitting the road. A biting breeze swept across my face, piercing through my resolve. I pulled on my hood, turned on my music, and plugged in my earbuds.

Jamming to the rhythm of the song, I followed the lead of the wind, jogging lazily from side to side with my eyes slightly closed. A few feet ahead, I spotted a wheelchair parked in the middle of the street. Someone sat slumped in it, their neck tilted to one side. They looked either fast asleep or worse, dead.

My heart began racing erratically as I inched closer. "I hope this isn’t a trap," I whispered under my breath. Three feet away, the person coughed, a dry, hollow sound that pierced the eerie quiet.

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I froze for a moment, watching as he struggled to breathe in the cold. Hesitant but determined, I filled the gap between us and reached for his hands. They were icy and frail. The person, a man, was dressed in nothing but briefs and a worn-out sweater.

“Please,” he groaned as my fingers feathered his wrists.

Wrinkles carved deep paths across his face, his gray hair messy and sparse. His sagging skin clung tightly to bones that seemed too fragile to hold him together. It was evident he had been starved. My chest tightened as a tear threatened to spill, but I blinked it away.

Questions swirled in my mind, dozens of them, but I couldn’t find my voice. My throat was dry and sore. Neither did I want to wear him out further. He was cold, exhausted, and vulnerable. I took off my hoodie and gently draped it over his shivering frame. Then, gripping the wheelchair handles, I turned it around. My morning jog had ended abruptly, and all I wanted now was to get him to safety.

As a human rights activist, I was already bracing myself for the battle to find whoever had abandoned him to die in the cold. They would pay dearly for their cruelty.

The man trembled as I pushed him along the deserted street. I tried to pick up my pace without jolting him too much. My mind was racing, but I was thankful I had left the fire crackling back at home.

“Thank you,” he croaked, his voice faint but sincere.

I nodded, letting tears streak silently down my cheeks as memories of my father flooded my mind. I recalled wheeling him  the same way but into the theater. He never made it out. I blamed myself for not wheeling him in too fast. But I had decided to let the past be in past. I had decided to stop blaming myself. I tried. 

But this man’s struggle to survive stirred something deep in me. This time, I was determined to save a life. I couldn't help to lose someone else although I barely knew him. 




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