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Outside
"I went outside to take a walk. There wasn't a soul outside this late, and most streetlights had been turned off. The snow was no longer merely falling, it had become a continuous sheet of all-enveloping particles which appeared from the impenetrable blackness above me and quietly fell to add to the vast mounds already on the ground. My shoes were sinking deep into the pristine, powdery ice that had consumed and smothered every landmark I would usually encounter on my route through the night. It swallowed every sound my steps and my breath emitted, and it did so with an intensity that seemed almost animate. It was as if an insufferable silence had lowered itself onto the nightly landscape, strangling what little life and vibrancy had still endured the utter cold up to this moment. My pace, swift at first and almost playful, became slower the further I ventured and the more snow fell around me. Tiny, beautiful crystals, rationally, and yet holding me back with invisible, craving fingers, aiming to lure me into their deceiving softness to bury me as well. I returned, every inch of my coat covered with snow, my gloves, my face, everything.
And now, at my home. It is dark, and I am listening to Clint Mansell's "Moon"."
