I Am At Night, Fifty Degrees Outside

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

I wrap my scarf around my neck and reach down to lace up my boots. Careful not to drop my cross body bag as it swings down, I stand up straight and walk out the door. As I lock the front door behind me, I inhale a deep breath. This is my favorite time of year. The air is brisk, yet the sun is warm on my skin. I begin my walk to work since my car officially died yesterday. This is the third time this month, but I don’t really mind. I love walking when the weather is like this. The sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet sounds like music.

These ‘thoughts’ are something I wish was a Zombie; so they wouldn’t be real. Regrettably, these thoughts are from an equally terrifying creature called depression.

The sun was about to set and it was getting very dark out. You walked out the door and began to walk. The breeze caused shivers to run down your spine and goosebumps to appear on your arms, but this will all be worth it. Won't it?

It was a perfect night for a run. Around 70 degrees with a slight breeze. I wait in my Dark Blue Mini Cooper as my watch gets my location. Feet trembling with adrenaline, much like an addict, I’m itching for a run. With a loud “BEEP,” I know the smartwatch is ready and I’m off. As time progresses, I start running faster, faster, and faster. The whispering wind would flow through my hair as I make my way down the trail. Bliss. I notice my surroundings, trees, deer, and the bright light of my headlamp. Chills go up my spine every so often. All I hear is the pitter pattering of my red running shoes and the occasional rustle of bushes. After what feels like the shortest moment ever, my half-hour run is over and I sigh with relief.

He had been walking somewhere on a road, in between buildings, he doesn’t know how long it’s been how long he has been walking. Night hauntingly shrouds his surroundings with darkness; the artificial lights seem so damn weak. They seem to only produce enough light to brighten a large moving box. The darkness stares him down, the cold presses against the bare skin of his arms. A hand squeezes his right shoulder he can feel the warmth through his shirt.

Desperately, fighting to stay occupied; so thoughts of is it really ok for me to go back, stay buried inside. Although, briefly successful, it’s not long till every emotion that’s been blocked rushes over your body. Until you feel chilly and its ninety eight degrees at the moment. Simultaneously, rubbing your palms on the front of your freshly dry cleaned pants; since they won’t stop sweating. Wondering, who will be there when I finally walk through those doors? Does anyone care enough to even show up? Every moment of excitement feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, is followed by the sensation of someone just kicked my dog. The closer it becomes to arriving at that final stop, the stronger the pressure builds up around the heart. Producing the horrific sensation of something squeezing it just enough to

Picture yourself walking up to a building; there are green trees decorating the walkway. You reach the metallic silver doors. While looking up at the sky, the snow white clouds slowly caress the deep blue sky. You pull the metallic door open, entering the building. As the mundane walls around you start to collapse your body goes cold and numb.

I covered every inch of myself, so now I could only see thru the misshapen opening of my hood. I slowly waded thru the slush of snow. I shoved my hand into the pockets of my coat, desperately trying to keep them warm. Ever since I was a kid, I feared hypothermia. I was so afraid of losing my fingers and toes to the point where I rather just lose the whole arm, instead of just one finger.

A shiver with every step The stench of sweat from all the bodies Men cramped together struggling to survive The mouth is dry, need a drink to quench Halt! Tempted by the haunting snow To sleep… To move is better

In elementary school and the beginning of Middle school I hung out with a group of popular kids. I began hanging around them because I wanted to me just like them, “popular”. I was scrawny, awkward, and quiet growing up, but played in a lot of sports. Which was the main reason I wasn’t discluded from their group. Walking through the halls in school I would mimic them in the hopes I would be “cool” too. This included belittling other kids who weren’t as fortunate as the rest of us. Again, I didn’t notice anything wrong with it because it was fun for the others. So being a naive kid I went along with it.

From that point on I had a pit in my stomach arriving to school each day. Every head turn and whisper gave me anxiety. I didn’t want to be the center of attention. I knew deep down who the catty girls were who had started the mean comments. But, I bared not to let my conscious be right. I thought they really liked me.

As I sit in a chair clearly designed for durability, not comfort, I can feel the rough fabric of the seat leaving imprints on my legs. There’s a relaxing stillness in the air. The bougainvilleas suspended by hooks on either side of the porch appear frozen in time, their paper-thin, bright fuchsia leaves unmoved by any breeze. Dusk is settling in and covering the landscape in a bluish gray haze. The air smells of soil and freshly mown grass. I stretch my legs and feel my bare feet softly scrape against the rough concrete.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

Walking down the busy filled street. I felt myself putting my head down as people continued to walk in the opposite direction. Frosty air breathes against my flushed cheeks. Its whimsy arms