The house looms above us on the hill. We will have to trek through thigh-high snow, smooth and even like fresh concrete, to reach the garage door. The garage door shines like ice, like steel, in the photograph.

The is the fairytale house in the woods. I know it well. In the photograph, it’s black and white. Framed by a blizzard of a vignette. Pine and aspen trees are on the left side. The front of the house faces a slope, leading down to an overlook of the valley. The mountains hem in on all sides. The view is impressive, but the bleakness of winter in the upper valley cannot be pictured. It must be experienced.

The trees had a green filter to them, but most everything was brown. The dirt, the bark. What wasn’t brown was grey, dead branches big and small lying on the ground. What wasn’t grey was green, the tufts of grass poking out of the soil, the pine tree needles, the leaves on the aspens.

What wasn’t green was red. The sign with fresh red marker that said “DANGER: KEEP OUT.”

I stepped closer to the sign.

I went to the movies last night. There were only two other people in the theater besides my friends and myself. Maybe six people who I saw in the theater altogether. It was nice, honestly.

I fiddle with a hangnail. It’s taking some time to come off. The skin underneath is bright red, the air stinging the wound. I watch, detached, as the hand continues to peel my skin like a potato.

My fingernails tearing at the flesh are like birds going at a carcass.

Claudia sits down across from me, pulling her legs up to the side, leaning on the cushy armchair as if she was at home. She gives me a bright smile, bringing attention to her wide, mint green eyes. It’s supposed to calm me down, her smile. But she knows I get anxiety from cryptic messages like, “We need to talk. In a public space. :)” And she hasn’t done anything to clarify what we need to talk about. I can only assume the worst.

Amo

When you brought your world in wonder

Skies in thunder

I lost God, I found you.

When I was in high school, I was one of the fortunate students that knew exactly what I wanted to do in life, so high school just felt like such a waste of time. Why did I have to keep going through the same rigorous routine that drained the life out of me when I already knew my purpose in life was to write stories?

Today I noticed that I would rather just lie in bed than get up and do anything, even if it’s something I want to do. Actually, I feel this way almost every day of my life, it’s just that today I had to notice it, because I know it’s my fear of death that’s causing me to put a pause on living. And I want that to stop.