Hauling Man

Every part of my body is covered. I see the world through the limited field of vision of these goggles. To exist you must stand in this field or scream louder than the incessant wind that torments my ears with nonsense. Else you must exist in my head, or in my heart.

I see a sky tinged purple, fading to an opaque blue hue on the horizon, where it marries the ice on which I'm hauling. A dry dead ice, long forgotten in this arid white desert.

Tethered to my aching back is a rope. It snaps at my shoulders and spine with each step. At the end of this rope is my sledge. It contains everything for my survival in this, the most hostile place on earth.

For seven days now, for seven hours each day this has been my world. Step by step, mile by mile, day by day, I march on...whilst spindrift dances around my boots like the souls of dead snakes, following the wind eternal.