Prose 4

The air was cold. Frost filled pockets would fill and slap you in the face as you exhaled and moved, and that’s how you kept alive in this cold. Breathing and moving.

As much as the air was cold, the night was black. If you were born to this black you wouldn’t ever know you weren’t blind.

As much as breathing and moving kept you alive, the scenery here could kill you mentally long before you stopped breathing and moving. It wasn’t exactly motivating.

So we ran through the thick black landscape and the floor felt like dirt. Tight soil, maybe the beach near the outgoing tide. Solid, but giving. A lot like us. Solid, but giving.

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