The Lookout Tower

The man in black heads back out to the Edge of the World. It’s the last month in the year of the Pandemic, and he feels that things are on the brink of destruction. People will not go quietly into the night, but instead will reveal their true evil in the dark recesses of the Web. The glimmer of hope that flashed briefly last month has faded from view.

In turbulent times such as these, many of the masses will turn to religion for guidance and understanding. The man in black prefers to not be mislead by such notions though, as the stark reality that comes with accepting that there is no higher power to save mankind is more comforting to his mind. He walks in silence towards the lookout tower.

Snow starts to fall, flakes landing on the man’s face. He remembers a time when he was a child, catching snowflakes on his tongue with friends and siblings. Or maybe that was all just a dream. Time and memory seem more like concepts these days.

The quiet seeps into his bones out here at the Lookout Tower. The man in black can not only see far off into the distance, but deep inside himself as well.

As the snow quickens and starts to accumulate on the ground, he heads for shelter. A small yurt out in the forest, with only a wood stove and bare camping mattress inside. For him, it is more than enough.

The man in black grabs the axe and starts chopping wood for the long night ahead of him. He needs enough kindling to keep a fire going all night long, or else one might freeze to death.

The fire crackles and burns as he sits in silence. The wind is howling like a monkey, the snow piling up around him. The whiskey soothes his throat, eventually bringing slumber.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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