snowy picture

The feathers bristled a tell-tale warning followed by a dimunitive chirp.

“Yes, Braelle. I sense it too.” she coo’d affectionately, stroking his neck before looking in the direction from which he had flown, "…trouble.”

(don’t tell me to calm down you calm down)

   Milky Way shot near the top of The Remarkables overlooking Queenstown,       New Zealand in August By  AKA Jordan McInally  Undersoul Photography

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Actual Southern Gothic

-You live thirty minutes away from anything interesting. The only things within walking distance are a gas station and a Bojangles.

-You love looking at pictures of snowy winter scenes. In the winter you wish for snow, but everything remains brown and dead. When you go outside it seems like the world is holding its breath.

-A neighbor puts up a large wooden cross in their yard. No one asks why. No one says anything. You wonder if you’re imagining it.

-You hear distant gunshots coming from the woods at night. You hear a distant scream coming from the woods at night. You hear music coming from the woods at night. You are tempted to follow it.

-The deer are growing bolder by the day. Driving home late at night you see an entire herd on the side of the road. Watching you pass by. Conspiratorial.

-A bat gets in the house. It flutters around desperately before crashing to the floor in defeat. You are afraid to touch it, so afraid, though it is smaller than your fist. There’s been talk of another outbreak of rabies in the area. You eventually scoop it onto a broom and place it on the back porch and wash your hands until your skin is raw.

-You wave and smile at your neighbors when you see them. They wave and smile in return. You never speak to them. You do not know their names. They have lived next door to you for ten years. You hate them. Their smiles look hasty, their eyes glassy. You continue to smile and wave.

-Summer is worse than winter by far. It’s not the heat. It’s not the oppressive humidity. It’s the way insects find their way into your home, no matter what you do. You spray for roaches every summer. Every summer they return. Moths fly in when the door opens, great huge lunar moths beat themselves against the window. Spiders make their homes in the high corners of your bedroom, centipedes skitter up your walls. You wake in a panic one morning; a roach has fallen from the ceiling onto your chest. You have nightmares of roaches crawling into your mouth, crawling under your skin, bursting from your eyes. You find the glue traps full of glossy brown insects almost daily.

Part 2

  • DWIGHT: All right, picture this. Snowy ash drizzles from the sky. A rabid pack of dogs surrounds you as the flame at the end of your stick dies out. There's only one hope for you: the door to my shelter. You pound. You beg. "Dwight, please let me in." But I ignore your cries and do not let you in. You want to know why?
  • JIM: Because of the sign that says, "No pounding, no begging."