Don’t pick it up.

I walk alone to the bus stop, 

Waiting. 

The snow-covered concrete lighting up the darkness 

A green bill pokes out of the snow, 

Easily intrigued I pick it up.  

A man approaches me, 

“Excuse me miss, do you have a dollar so I can get some food?” He says, 

disheveled and lost. 

I asked the man if he was okay, 

Everything went black. 

Zip ties and duct tape lined my wrists and closed my mouth shut. 

One light shined on wooden shelves that held the duct tape and a chainsaw, 

I wish my bus arrived sooner.