A year in sensations:
The opening and closing of a freshly refurbished building, alone with only security cameras for company and the only assurance that should you somehow die, someone might witness it.
The crunch of frost underfoot as you stand in front of a winter-soaked forest whose trees only seem to get taller the longer you look at them.
Something deep inside of you knows that if you stare too long, the woods will stare back.
The smell of freshly cut grass mingling with dying leaves.
The sad sighs of the mowermen as they chain their machines up until the trees bloom again.
A small part of you wondering if spring will ever come again as the cold seeps into your bones already.
Someone singing carols at your door.
It is mid afternoon and you see no outline of a person outside, still they sing.
Soon more will come.
Waking in the early hours of the morning, drenched in sweat, head still fuzzy from sleep and watching long grey arms slither back into your closet.
The sickly stench of rotting meat coming from somewhere in a field of flowers.
Somewhere nearby.
Somewhere drawing so close by that you gag, unwillingly giving away your position.
The opening and closing of a freshly refurbished building, alone with only security cameras for company and the only assurance that should you somehow die, someone might witness it.
The crunch of frost underfoot as you stand in front of a winter-soaked forest whose trees only seem to get taller the longer you look at them.
Something deep inside of you knows that if you stare too long, the woods will stare back.
The smell of freshly cut grass mingling with dying leaves.
The sad sighs of the mowermen as they chain their machines up until the trees bloom again.
A small part of you wondering if spring will ever come again as the cold seeps into your bones already.
Someone singing carols at your door.
It is mid afternoon and you see no outline of a person outside, still they sing.
Soon more will come.
Waking in the early hours of the morning, drenched in sweat, head still fuzzy from sleep and watching long grey arms slither back into your closet.
The sickly stench of rotting meat coming from somewhere in a field of flowers.
Somewhere nearby.
Somewhere drawing so close by that you gag, unwillingly giving away your position.
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