aromas. It became a place of rest that you allowed with me. The fire in your eyes is associated with a red

that resonates with the heat from your embrace. It ignites an obsession that can never be put out. Are

your feelings a reflection of mine? Will you profess permission for me to latch onto you for life?

Whatever is mine being yours and whatever is yours being mine. Shall we share our life together?

spout into a dark realism. If delusions cannot guarantee my true happiness, then could I have your

bittersweet perceptions and make them my own in the same way as I do you. Your pessimism persists as

my required guide to start anew, a hope for fulfilled happiness, can I fulfill myself with you?

Will you print me out?

Oh citrine quartz you burn so bright,

Like the flare at sunrise after a dark winter night.

Your gilded glow radiates in the moonless night, 

As we watch your golden heart ignite.

But why so bright, must you always shine?

When November twilights are your design,

Does the summer sun steal your prime?

Or do you offer yourself up to its shrine?

When will your time come to pass?

When you can glisten like precious seaglass,

Or will you break like fragile glass?

Into the waves, your soul will trespass.

The time will come for you, my dear,

I promise you, of that, don’t fear.

Your heart, so strong, will guide you clear,

Of all that made you once disappear.

I crept out of my bed, and inched towards the door. I picked up the tiny hockey stick that I got last Christmas, and swung open the door. I ran out into the hallway, wildly looking all around me to see what was in my house. There was nothing there. It was that day that I realised - it was true that people never look up to see a threat. My world went black as something heavy fell onto my small body. 

I awoke breathing heavily as I sat bolt upright in bed. I looked around confused, barely noting the presents at the foot of my bed. What really took me by surprise was the absence of the hockey stick in the corner of my room.

The explorer’s package includes a compass that always points South. Unless it’s pointing East.
A map that’s contour lines are backwards and all roads have been coloured green.
Multiple different water bottles all with different liquids that we couldn’t even tell you what they are :D
Two torches which work 26.5% of the time and a binocular which requires 20p to use.

Come now and get lost with our Explorer’s Guide to get lost.
(Only £29.99 on Wednesdays, Thursday and next Mondays).

In simpler times I’d have looked through the window into the picturesque world of frost and just be happy my excuse was already laid out before me.

Not even the joys of winter lasted as long back then, the true underlayer of problems were only delayed, not gone. As soon as January hit, the weeks of school  would start again with suffering along with them. Sure, school was a pain, but always a growing one. And yes, winter was terrible in every conceivable aspect not involving avoiding it, but it would always pass. What never seemed to pass, however, is the tortuous wait until April for the world to finally have some form of warmth again while being forced to walk into a cold brick facility almost every morning.

I suppose it did pass in the end. I suppose it’s logical horrors beyond humanity would surpass man-inflicted horrors. College sounds really good about now, just not Robotics. Did I make that joke already?

Something whimpers in the horizon and I feel my hands slip into position. Something whimpered and something could be anything. I still opted to leave a finger off the trigger just in case.  If shaking hands are primed for misfires, Winter is the Jazz of the dancefloor.

Another sound closer towards the treeline: A howl. A wolf-like howl. Perfect. Another round of ‘Real or just Mimicry’, now with extra frostbite because they needed an advantage. They’ve told an old game new tricks; Knew it was possible.