A Time for Kindness(Steven W Kimball) Bill sat quietly by his front window staring out into the street. He watched contentedly as the thick December snow wafted down through the night air and came to rest on the untrod path that was Main Street. The only sound within Bill's weather worn home was the alternating crackling of the fireplace and the slow creaking of his rocking chair.

As he gazed upon the snow-covered ground, he began to see shapes forming upon its surface. These shapes became figures that rose from the ground and formed something vaguely familiar to Bill. It was a winter scene he suddenly recognized as being from his youth.

There was a boy outside of the window, and although Bill's eyesight was bad, he knew it was he when a mere ten years old. The boy made a motion toward the window as though he wanted Bill to come out and play. He then ran a short distance from the house, and reaching into the white blanket of snow, he immediately set to work. With practiced hands he made a snowball which in turn he rolled about to form the lower torso of a snowman. As Bill watched intently, the snowman grew in both size and character until at last it was finished. Finished, but for one small item; it had no mouth. The boy turned to the window, and smiling at Bill, raised his mitten clad hand and covered his mouth. Bill's old and drawn face widened and upon it drew an unpracticed smile. The boy then turned again, and reaching deep into the snow, collected several dark umber colored rocks. These he placed on the snowman's head to form a wide grin. He then turned and with a smile beaming with pride, waved to Bill.

Bill felt a warmth growing within him he had not felt in many years. He raised his hand and heartily waved to the boy. As Bill's hand grew weak from use, so did his vision. Slowly the boy and his surroundings faded back into the quiet solitude of night. Bill's hand gently fell to his lap, and with it, a tear.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. Bill's heart paused, then resumed at a faster pace. Grabbing his cane, he pulled his tired body from the chair, and shook all the while he made his way towards the door. The journey was a difficult one as there was a short set of stairs to surmount before reaching the landing which served the front entrance. Bill, however, was undaunted by its difficulty as he felt a sudden burst of energy from the excitement which welled from within him. Who could it possibly be? Bill found himself trying to remember when he had last had a visitor.

At last, he reached the door. Pausing momentarily, he took a deep breath to regulate his breathing and drew a large smile before swinging open the door to greet his welcomed guest.

The crisp winter air rushed in and pierced Bill's body. As his eyes adjusted, they did not meet with that of an old and dear friend, nor with that of a loving relative. Instead, they met with darkness, and in turn, loneliness.

Bill turned slowly from the door. As he did, he heard a sudden rush of laughter coming from outside. He quickly turned his attention back in time to see several young boys running from his yard.

Bill quietly closed the door. With head hung low, he made his way back down the steps into the living room. He crossed the room and stopped upon reaching the window. After a long hesitation, the grip on his cane tightened, his entire body began to shake, and he could feel tears welling up from inside him. As they formed on the grey pools that were his eyes, he looked upwards towards the night sky and uttered a single word. WHY?

Bill stood motionless by the window for some time. He did not really do anything, just wondered, stared, and cried.

Finally, Bill regained his composure somewhat and slowly moved to the fireplace, where he began to add wood. As he did, there came a sudden knocking at the door. His head jerked upright, and a smile began again to form on his lips. All at once the recent memory of the pranksters struck him, and the smile quickly faded. He headed towards the door more slowly this time, and with much less determination. As he approached the landing, he heard a voice from outside, "Hello is anyone home?" This stopped Bill where he stood, and at once restored hope to this man’s heart. He continued with renewed vigor and trust. Upon reaching the door, this time, flung it open without hesitation.

The first hard, ice packed snowball struck Bill square in the chest. A look of pain and shock came over his face, and as he looked up a second projectile struck him full force in the face. Bill, stunned and now blinded, fell to the floor in utter helplessness. He raised his arms to the barrage, but to no avail. They struck with a loud crack, one after another. His head now felt as though it would split wide open from the pain. When was it going to end? "Please, please stop!” he cried out.

All at once, this cruel one-sided battle came to an end. Through the searing pain in his head Bill suddenly heard a scream. It seemed to be coming from outside.

After a long moment he unwillingly opened his eyes. Through fogged and watery eyes, he could see three young boys running away in certain panic. After having blinked several times he again gazed outside and observed a fourth boy chasing after the others, all the while pelting them with snowballs. Bill now felt a dull pounding within his head. His blurred vision faded into darkness, and with it, silence.

When he awoke, he found himself lying on the sofa absorbing the warmth of the nearby fireplace. To sit up, he reached for the top of the sofa and craned his neck forward as he pulled at the cushions. Making it halfway up he turned his attention upwards and was suddenly startled. At the end of the sofa, a boy was standing. Not doing anything, just staring at Bill, and smiling in a caring way.

''You are the boy that helped me, aren’t you?'' Bill said but received no answer. The boy just kept smiling.

Bill's head again began to pound and so he relented and laid down.

As he lay there he spoke to the boy, and although he never received an answer, he enjoyed having someone to talk to.

The night wore on, and Bill continued to talk. He spoke of the way things used to be. He told the boy of how he was as a boy, and how he loved to play in the snow. He could build nearly anything from snow. Bill looked towards the ceiling and reminisced. He saw himself kneeling in the snow, diligently working on a sculpture. It was one of the best he had done. A life-sized version of a shepherd dog and her puppies. The detail was so defined you would half expect to hear the continued whimpering of the hungry pups and see the warm breath of the mother as she intently nursed the little ones.

Suddenly Bill's vision changed somehow. It no longer filled his heart with warmth but instead made it ache. As he watched this, the story of his life, the realization of his thoughts showed that which made his heart ache. A group of boys came running up to the unsuspecting artist and slammed into him. As he regained his footing, he saw the boys maliciously smashing the snow sculpture. Bill's vision faded with the view of a young boy kneeling over a lump of snow, tears endlessly running down his face.

He now found himself again looking at the ceiling but with vision that was somehow clearer. As Bill's gaze began to wander, he remembered he had company. He again attempted to sit up but with more success this time. He gained an upright position and looked to the end of the sofa.

Finding nothing, he rapidly looked about the room, searching for the companionship he needed. Discovering that he was again alone, he sat back and began to ask himself if perhaps the presence of the boy may have been nothing but his imagination. A bit of wishful thinking brought on by the injuries he sustained.

As he settled back into the solitude of his home, he decided he would attempt standing. He leaned forward rather shakily causing his vision to be directed downward. He then noticed a puddle of water at his feet. His eyes followed the water and suddenly froze, for there, at the end of the sofa, he found the remnants of what his wishful imagination had brought. On the floor lay a large white mass of melting snow.

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