The entire world has been shellacked. For real.
We’ve been getting a lot of freezing rain the last few days. For those happy souls out there who live in an area where this is not a thing, freezing rain falls as a liquid, but freezes when it hits the ground. It covers everything it touches with a layer of ice. Back in Newfoundland, we call it glitter because, damn, is it pretty when the light hits it. All shiny and new like the human at that bar last night, the one that was out of your league. Just don’t make the mistake of actually approaching it, because there is a reasonable chance that it will destroy you.
The car is entombed in a sheet of ice. The snowbanks have all been candy-coated. In some places, a vagary of the fall has made the ice completely opaque. So things like the compost bin have turned into white eggs, waiting for some unspeakable hatching. Anything could be under that layer of ice. For all I know that’s not even the goddamn compost bin. It could be anything out there. Maybe something made off with the compost in the night and has replaced it with this white egg, trusting that the humans won’t realize it is not their green plastic bin full of banana peels and manky leftover salad until it’s too late. Until it hatches, emerging into the still winter air with an unfurling of unspeakable limbs and wings, ready for action. And hungry. So very hungry.*
Monday Challenge: what’s inside that shell?
I’m going to arm myself with rock salt and a flamethrower now.
*I swear to god, I sat down to write something nice and light about the weather for this. BRAIN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?