For a short while I see the old house as it was. Freshly painted walls, swing seat on the veranda, the old tyre hanging from the oak tree. But it’s soon swallowed by time, the mist rolling back. It’s older now, a sold sign swings from the porch. I stand in the passage, dust motes dancing at the bottom of the stairs. I remember you standing there with a hole in your t-shirt. I stick my finger in it and tickle your tummy. I can’t help but cry, this house soon becoming just a hole where we once lived.
Time stretched out, an eternity to be endured. The harshest winter held them in its grip, having crept upon them without warning. It was an insufferable shock when it set in; a deep chill that could not be shaken, taking a hold in a way only nightmares do. Yet they knew from this they could not wake. They trembled in their own skin, unable to escape the torment as the icy cold embrace settled in their very bones. Hearts began to freeze, an anchor pulling them under into an inescapable existence; an eternal wintertime enslaving them.