Psychopath : Ice Cold

 

As I walked through the wintry expanse, a certain detachment settled within me, shielding me from the biting cold and desolation around me. The landscape stretched out endlessly, its frozen architecture stretching far into the distance. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by the occasional crunch of my boots sinking into the deep layer of snow beneath. My breath clouded as I made my way across this stark white world. The sting of the cold on my face was welcome for there was no feeling within me, the emptiness loomed large and sensation of cold on my face enabled me to at least feel something. I knew the dead coldness resided within me, an iciness which meant that nobody was able to penetrate this permanently dread world. That was important to me, yet there came no feeling with that internal iciness which contrasted with the sensation of the sub-zero air against my face. Many sensations have been denied to me and therefore to experience the sharp, near painful assault on my exposed skin was something to cherish. The cold had always had this affect on me, even from when I was young. In a similar way to how I was fascinated by fire and its power, the executing exactness of bitter cold attracted me. Unlike the showmanship of the conflagration, it was silent, graceful and beautifully deadly.

 

The trees, stripped of their leaves, stood like gaunt sentinels, reaching towards the desolate sky. The air was still, and the emptiness of the world was magnified engulfing me in a serene isolation. I felt like an  observer, navigating through a world completely separate from my own.

 

The wind began to howl, its mournful melody piercing through the air. It effortlessly swirled the snowflakes around me, creating an ethereal dance. But even as my footsteps resonated through the frozen silence, the scene barely registered any response within me. I could see it all, yet all I felt was the cold against my cheeks and nose. Long ago I had sought to feel on this occasion, but nothing arose on the long march, nothing save the embrace of the cold. I had to have that embrace, it belonged to me, it provided a foundation for focus.

 

I kept my gaze fixed on the frozen lake beyond, like a distant beacon pulling me forward. Its surface seemed solid and unyielding, a vast expanse of icy blue stretching towards the horizon. Though devoid of warmth, there was a certain allure to its frozen majesty. It represented an unforgiving power, a metaphorical embodiment of the detachment I felt within.

 

As I approached the shore, I couldn’t help but appreciate the intricate patterns in the ice. Streaks of deep blue intertwined with veins of pure white, resembling a mesmerizing work of art. I observed the cracks forming, spiderwebs etching their way across the surface, as if the ice itself were surrendering to the relentless grip of winter.

 

Despite the desolation surrounding me, I found a semblance of recognition in this stark, unforgiving environment. In its emptiness, I was free to wander, free to explore the depths of my own detachment. As I reached the edge of the frozen lake, a gust of wind swept across its surface, creating a shrill whistling sound that resonated within me and reminded me of a sound from long ago. I stood there for a moment, observing the returned stillness and the vast emptiness that lay before me. The world felt suspended, as if time itself had frozen along with the lake.

My purpose was clear, my determination unwavering, as I trudged onward towards the frozen heart of the lake, disconnected yet strangely content in this frozen wasteland. Each time I had to take these steps, the ice sometimes straining and groaning under the weight of my advance, on other occasions it remained utterly silent, its thickness easily able to accommodate my footsteps.

 

 

With each step onto the icy surface, my detachment seemed only to deepen. I pushed forward, driven by an unyielding sense of purpose that overshadowed any hint of emotions or sensations that this desolate landscape might evoke in others. The ice cracked beneath my weight, a fleeting reminder of the fragility of the world around me.

 

The wind continued its relentless assault, nipping at the exposed skin on my face, but I remained focussed. Now, the cold had become nothing more than a mere physical sensation, distant and unimportant as it fell second to the same thoughts that always dominated when I came to this place. My focus remained fixed on the destination ahead, the frozen expanse drawing me closer with an almost magnetic pull.

 

As I reached the center of the lake, I stood and waited, surrounded by a serene stillness. The vastness of the frozen sheet extended in all directions, as if it held the very essence of isolation within its icy embrace. The once vibrant, glistening water had now transformed into a solid mass, impenetrable and untouched. I waited to ascertain whether the ice would hold or whether there would be a sudden crack and then the sheeted ice would splinter and fracture, causing me to drop into the sub-zero waters beneath. Would this be the time where it would happen? Would this finally be the occasion where our union would be complete. I stamped a foot down hard on the ice, as if to goad it.

“Come on then,” I hissed, breath clouding, “ come one” I urged. I brought my boot down again and a white scuff mark was made on the surface, yet such was the thickness of the ice there would be no yielding. I laughed, titling my head back sneering at the cowardice of that beneath me as once again it failed to take me. It had once not been so recalcitrant.

 

Despite the numbing cold, I sensed an unusual beauty in this barren landscape. The absence of life and the absence of noise, save the wind,  allowed me to exist outside the boundaries of human experience. I found companionship in the silence, recognition in the emptiness that mirrored the depths of my own detachment.

 

I remained, ice cold within, surrounded by the cold as once again the lake had shrunk from pulling me beneath its darkened waters.

 

I stood awhile, triumphant over its failure and then with gloved hand reached for my phone to complete the ritual within this place of loss.

 

Empty within and empty without.

 

Forever ice cold.