The air is frigid
a cold that seeps through the bone
through the blood, freezing it in a hard layer of cold sadness and pain
Clothes are scattered, lying in wait for the master that shall never bear them
I sit eating a granola bar
In our little hut
My little hut
I finish the bar
then get a piece of cake I found him saving for my birthday
A tear falls from my eye
I cut the cake in half saving it for later
“Happy Birthday to Me”
But it seems I lost my appetite
after I cut the cake
with my bloody knife
19 20
Red Winter: Lost in Antarctica
Andreas Palmer