As your feet touch the floor, you look into winter. All the trees are gone. Light runs at you from the windows across the floor, light is gone fragile and scarce.

You go to the door. How long ago was it? Long summers gone, now darkened world.Wars fought, bones to dust, lust felt and love squandered. Misplaced papers, uninvited guests, animated corpses in black hole calling. You take all the things that torture you, march them through snow-dusted woods to the dried creek, and shoot them in the head.

You remember one Christmas when sunlight flooded the windows and spoke of loneliness. You liked it alone because you were afraid. Now you are surrounded by that loneliness. The roads behind you spread out like a nervous breakdown.

Back to the house. The air blows clearly. Back to your room, you dress for the cold.

- David Childers