Harsh winds have raged over the city for several days now, forcing razor-sharp snowflakes through the streets and cutting open one’s skin. Winds keep getting caught on buildings and whistle eerily through the dark grey night.
For the past few days, I scarcely left the room, only to restock supplies and for keeping in shape. The nights keep getting more and more secluded and sinister. Will such storms wreak havoc on us more and more often? Like they did in the northern parts of this country a few days ago or like they destroyed my siblings’ belongings several months ago.
I struggle to find comfort in thinking about the future. About a future where our parents dreams of exploration, discovery, and prosperity are but a dull memory. About a future where what we were meant to live on, what we were meant to tend to, slowly turns away, turns hostile.
Turns dead.