You Can't Call This "Winter"

Unpretty words

This isn't winter. Not like the winters
we used to have. Not like
the winters that used to lay siege to us,
ravage us with the kind of cold that
freezes blood and seizes hearts to sudden,
agonising
stillness.
Back in those days, summer
was winter, and winter
was nuclear
winter, and our eyes turned murky
from the lack of light. We
couldn't see, and we lost our way, and we were
alone.
Back then, nothing ever thawed. The dirt
was too hard to dig, so the dead
were left unburied, and nothing could grow
besides the bodycount. We starved,
and birds fell frozen out of the sky, just
bundles of brittle bones and dirty feathers.
We burned our early works and rough drafts; we set
fire to many things, but the flames
never warmed us. We lost
parts of ourselves to
frostbite and cannibalism. But
we survived, somehow. And now
the ice age is over, and by comparison,
no winter will seem
all that cold,
ever again.
So let's stand here, blinking our half-blind eyes in the sun together,
as daylight falls
on scar tissue.

Reviews

[HippieSoulPunx]

Beautiful writing, very dark and full of incredible imagery. I love how it started off feeling so bleak and hopeless, but ended on a much more positive outlook of things to come. Reminds me a bit of 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger', but in a much more in-depth and creative way. Loved reading this.

[Sleeper Note]

Brilliant. Chilling. Powerful. Skillful. That is all.