Ashore
The most eventful season was the Winter. When the water turned to cold, soul-less glass, and made staring to the depths of the lake just that much harder. It sings, you know. The Depths. I’m not sure what keeps me here, between the mountains. I’m much farther north than I’d like, as my family took a home in Denmark to get out of the States. It wasn’t long after that I decided to strike out on my own. Find my own home, you know? Settle down, maybe. But at that time, that drive had been to maybe find a husband or wife. Maybe a home. Not this. Not this cursed lake. Every morning it is the same. I wake up, my mind foggy with the peculiar dreams that held my attention in some span of the night. I used to keep a journal, but it became too cursed and wretched that I had to throw it into the lake. I go to the mirror and shave. Sometimes there’s a little, sometimes there’s a lot, but it always makes me think of awful gripping legs, like those of a terrible spider. So I stay clean-shaven. Us...