I have no intention to blog, nor content of which to blog with. But it is late, i am not ready for slumberland, and there is little to do at this hour. And so i shall start a series of posts, depicting scenes in my head that seem to convey what i'm feeling currently. So here goes.

He stands on the edge of the world. A frigid white landscape lay before him. Swirls of mist caress the ice, miming every bump, every imperfection. The rays of the afternoon sun do nothing to warm his flesh, but stream upon the glazed surfaces in a pale sparkle. Silence is absolute. No howling of the wind. No chirp of migrating birds. No crackle of melting ice. It seemed like if he shouted, his voice would just be swallowed up by the everlasting abyss.

His dry, cracked lips tremble as he licked them out of habit, and they felt no smoother than sandpaper. Gasps of breath forming clouds of vapour that blew away to be forgotten. The icy chill gnawed at every inch of his exposed skin and no amount of shivering could generate enough warmth for him to stay alive in this unforgiving climate.

He kneeled from sheer exhaustion, then went down on all fours. Every breath he took was shorter and shorter, as if his very lungs were being covered in hoarfrost. He sat down and ran fingers through his hair, dislodging fragments of ice that had settled earlier. Throwing his head back in exasperation, he felt as if he could cry. And he knew that if he did, the tears would turn solid before they even hit the ground. With great effort, he pulled himself into a crouch, bending his legs that felt like they belonged to a senior with arthritis. He wrapped his arms around his shins and rested his chin upon his acheing knees. Closed his eyes, rocking back and forth. Waiting for the inevitable to arrive.