It was cold. The world was buried in ice. Daily achievements contained a strange supplementary factor to them. Nothing happened without manipulation and pain. Hopes of a better day fueled the only power to get through it. It seemed so elusive and impossible. None of us were really sure it was a real thing.
The sun rose and set sometimes, and when it did so, its duration was brief and left them wanting more. Unquenched, night after night, they endured, knowing that they just did not know if there ever would be a way out. In the glow of light bulbs, they lied to themselves and each other, falsely hoping the sun would come again.
The false peaks came into view with every tiring step and passed with great discouragement. Holding a depth we could not comprehend, the dark window mocked and taunted us. The decks popped beneath their feet, every step crunching like an exaggeration. Beneath them, they knew there were issues, but they just hoped the frozen universe could hold everything together.
Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash
Subconsciously, they knew that, in the direction of hope, there was a bridge to cross that was swaying and weak and spanned the raging waters of bad to worse. That could put them closer to relief if they even made it there. Just more pain. Just another day. One could only hope for such a thing.
They promise themselves in the dark night to be proactive. If they get out... when they get out, they will be ready, knowing what they know now. The Panic Season would grow, and it absolutely needs to.
I don't know if those unsuspecting souls will reach the promised land. I certainly hope they do. I can only pray they can hold onto their hope of a brighter day. Hopefully, they will make it. Spinning on a frozen axis, defying everything a day deals them.
Some never make it out. It is an unfortunate certainty. I will always try to remember them and the course they endured. Something has got to give. There has to be light somewhere.
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