septembertricycle:

Life in Alaska

– You see your friends everywhere in your town, even though your friends live in other states. Everyone acknowledges the doppelgangers among you, but you cannot tell the outsiders. How can they understand.

– You catch the eye of someone across the room. You know you’ve seen them before but at the same time never have. You leave without speaking to eathother.

– Your breath freezes in the air. Your breath freezes in your lungs. Your blood freezes in your veins. Black creeps up your limbs as you trudge through the never ending white. Class still isn’t cancelled.

– During the winter the darkness grows in you. You watch it consume those around you, and life desperately clings to the sunlight as the hours of the day dissappear into night. Day and night reverse.

– The sun returns. Within a week winter gives way to summer. There is no spring. There is no fall. There is winter, there is summer, and the few days inbetween.

– The summer has no rest from the sun. The world sits outside, trying to take the light into their souls to chase away the dark. You are never free, but you hope the light can fill you enough to keep the dark away.

– You walk into the woods. If you walk far enough you will never see another human again. You can die in these woods and return to the earth. You take comfort in the smallness you feel.

– You lie in bed. The buzzing you hear isn’t in your head or from the electricity. Something flits across the light, large enough to cast a shadow but small enough to be hidden. You call to your god as you pray for peace.

– The riverbank swarms with flies and hundreds of dead fish. Swollen and dead and rotting. This is the offering to the sunlight and for life. This is the smell of summer.

– It is illegal to kill a raven. It is immoral to kill a raven. It is impossible to kill a raven. They scream at you with the voices of the dead. You cannot kill the dead.