All the Best

It's the most wonderful time of the year
There be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It's the most wonderful time of the year, ooh ah

From my frosty place on the outskirts of the edge I can see the coloured lights beckoning me from the past. Red, green, some blue, they twinkle through the tight air of winter like a dickens christmas mirage. Cards sag on a string from the weight of the well wishers, and laughter can be heard from the avenues of the city so very far away. I lie on the white snow, naked. A large steel clamp around my ankle cuts deep to the bone and keeps me in this place, the present, where the past and the future meet in the sharpness of ice and snow. I lash out and pull on the chain trying to get somewhere, anywhere, but movement only results in pain.

Every so often I am paid a visit, offered food and warmth. But like a wounded animal, I have gone into survival mode. I recoil from all contact, show my fangs when I am approached by anyone, and have the look of fear in my eye. Thoughts are obscured and confused by the trap that holds me to this place. So I will sit here in the cold, on the outside, even if it kills any hope for a solution to the awful truth that has brought me here.

Merry Christmas, from Low