Fimbulwinter

Since the onset of winter I have hardly seen that burning ball of gas which envelopes our planet in warm life sustaining radiation. I rise in the morning long before the Sun and spend any daylight hours indoors, leading me to sincerely doubt the presence of natural light. The dark winter has robbed me of my warm tan and rendered me pale. A frightening visage of unlife a soul unattached to the source. I cannot be sure whether the ringing in my ears is a consequence of Rawk or the prelude to Ragnarok played out upon the Horn of Valhalla. My long commute from the salt mines includes a treacherous winding road built by the military to servise a radar base. The abrubpt turns and twisting path was designed to deter hostile aviators from landing aircraft on Sovereign soil. Its legacy is a civilian death toll in the hundreds. I saw no less than four overturned vehicles and even one tractor trailer and cargo in the ditch. Every accident lit by emergency flares and ambulance strobes. The urge to stare in wild eyed horror overcoming my better senses and morbid fascination with carnage winning out over the bliss of ignorance.