A story that is about nothing interesting

They were sleeping. Sleeping with alongside the cold bitterness of winters they remembered from their body...



They slept for so long and yet short. They woke up, they forgot how long they were curled up inside the cave. Woke to bundles of sadness, guilt and so much a n g e r . . .

It hurt, in their chest, their mind.

They arise, sounds of creaking and the snapping of their frozen body. Ice and frost slowly cracking off their weak muscle.



They begun moving with their arms, with the strength they had, it was only their hands that dug into the cold ground. Then the legs begun twitching with movement, and then the feet and then walked away from their slumber

 

They continued, sluggish movements even if It had been traveling for a long time, precise steps on rocks and ice. Each time they step, walked forward to that anger they felt still so far away. Cold from the outside and yet still within themselves, they felt nothingness, but why they felt it...

They walked to the beckoning of this call

Was it a beacon...

A call...

another like them?

Or a trick

It was genuine anger.
Such, such anger that it woke them and made them walk.
They wanted sleep but deep down they didn't want to, they must know what calls them from so far away from their homeslumberdeathbed.

they answer the call, it was after all only them that can answer it with fury or drowning grief to the sinful.

 

Green, a green forest, oak, birch, or pine trees, they always confuse the trees that surrounded themselves in snow.

How they know this, was unknown, a blank mystery.
They felt a subtle emotion, they are now closer to the anger, and they see.
no face, no eyes but they see, the important details are brightened with white everything else was black and grey

The trails of something, liquid that was spilled-- no. It was similar to-- paint that was in the middle of drying up. intriguing, paint.

The peak interest from their mind, pondering interest from brightened liquid with grey objects set aside from the trail and noticing the other grey objects that were...toys, wood...weapons?
They seemed dangerous, some were sharp, some blunt and some spikes and most were of a flattened wood, shiny hard material plate, they follow ever so patiently and nonchalantly for an unknown naivety, innocence or confidence?

They will never know.
They were the safest thing in these cold lands, they were not alive to be the prey.