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midwestern gothic: winter edition
the figures on the lake in winter at night: ice fishers or cult ?
the glint of eyes, or maybe just ice
the fields of crops are empty after the harvest and smooth with fresh snow, except for strange marks that look like something was dragged through the field
strange footprints in the snow, like bare feet, or feet too long
ice houses that move from lake to lake overnight (what is their purpose? one besides catching fish?)
dark shapes at the edges of snowy parks and fields
footprints in the snow that lead to your window
this car has been behind us for 20 miles, is it bc its following us or bc this is the only road around?
the things in the woods just off to the side of the street that you cant see among the trees and the snow
the sky turning colors at certain times of night, maybe its the snow reflecting light, maybe its something else
trees and bare branches moving on still nights
the Sledding Hill we all have and its stories
black ice in general
is that lump in the road a chunk of ice, a dead animal, or none of the above
deer sprinting across the road in your headlights but was it really a deer?
(…)he saw it: something large and black and bloody, buried in the ocean of peace lilies.
(…)
A heavy overcoat pulled across the span of his shoulders, entirely too warm a thing for Georgian weather and several decades out of fashion, a wealth of blood stained to his midriff, ruining the embroidery and dyeing the grass. Reflexively cursing under his breath, Hux raised his voice over the pour of rain to ask,
“Can you hear me?”
from Southern Comfort by @ocktorok
sam wilson brings a three inch knife to a gun fight and wins and you people still leave him out of everything