YOU

 

Now we’ve all been there, tired with life, tired with the unknown, and just generally tired. It’s like you want to take action but just don’t know where to begin. You ask the universe for a map, pray to a god – or two, in the hope that some form of guidance will manifest. That the path one seeks will finally appear like it has been there all along but you couldn’t see it because it was drawn in invisible ink just to fuck with you. And sometimes we just want help from someone we can call a true friend. All I knew was, as I readied myself for bed and pulled on a white t-shirt, XXL, for comfort of course, was that I had had enough of the hardships of life. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes seeking refuge from reality and comfort in the dreams that danced behind closed eyes. And as unconsciousness slowly crept upon me a final thought/wish was spoke. I wish someone would come and alleviate me of this burden of not knowing what to do, where to go or who to be. I wish that someone could show me the way.

The wind howled outside and a lone branch rapt against Tom’s bedroom window as if clawing to get inside. If you were to look through said window – two stories above the ground – you would see a man sleeping on a single bed in a neat and tidy room, not especially different to any other. Yet on this very night you would also happen to catch a glimpse of something magical and out of this world. For as Tom slept and his chest rhythmically rose and fell, a bright yellow light, the colour of the centre of a candle flame, appeared above him in an orb like form. At this stage many would probably be well and truly freaked out and would try and alert the relevant authorities. Which is understandable, we may be a generation raised on Harry Potter but we are also a generation that is highly sceptical of the unexplained and unique. However, if this small glowing light had managed to unfaze you then you would have been able to witness it slowly descending down towards Tom’s chest, and then seemingly melting into his body, until it penetrated his very heart – like a ghost through a wall. No doubt you would have had many questions, but due to it being a windy and stormy night, I would encourage you to remain calm and remind you that you are two stories off the ground and looking through a stranger’s window. You don’t want to create a scene and wake the neighbours and then have to try and explain what you were doing/just bared witness too. Good luck with that.

Have you composed yourself? Yes? Good. Well unfortunately, that is where the show for you ends and where Tom’s adventure now begins. Because you see, this show, the greatest story ever told, takes place within Tom’s dreams, and we, and most certainly you mysterious person peering through the glass upon some ladder in the middle of the night are not privy to that. The fuck are you doing? But don’t worry I’m sure someone will write a story about it and sell it for a somewhat expensive but reasonable price of $39.99 (Available at all leading retailers). 

Have you ever noticed the silence between the spaces of words? I like to liken that phenomenon to the moment between sleep and dreams. Where one does not know what is going to fill the void, we cease to exist in that monent, yet we are infinite. The future is a blank page where words are merely an idea – found at the extremities of one’s conscience. I don’t know a lot about life or how things work or why things playout the way they do, but I believe it all stems from the words that formulate, articulate, resonate and even conspirate within our minds.

***

A gentle breeze dashed across my cheek, intertwining ever so briefly with my hair. I felt the sensation of grass rub against my skin and as my eyes slowly began to open, all I could see was blue. I sat up and drank in the sight of a vast openness. A field of green raced towards the horizon where mountains towered towards the heavens themselves, always just out of reach. I could hear the rippling of water flowing over stones, a lake flowed eloquently to my right. I stood and inhaled the essence of life itself. Flowers teemed around me and took the shape of every colour imaginable. I reached the edge of the river and looked down. I saw myself as I have never seen myself before. My face was at peace, it was no longer a tempest of emotions, shrouded in fear, anxiety and bitterness. It was as clear as the sky above, a smile appeared at edge of my mouth. Was this happiness? I wondered. I mean what is a definition of happiness, is there a true one? These feelings that we have, that encroach upon our being our very soul that we give names to what are they truly, our reflection? Our beliefs? Our identity? They are temptetuous as the weather, but for now I liked the feeling that rose within me, as I smiled down at the stream of water evermoving away. I stood up straight and inhaled the air. And as I was just about to submerge myself in the water I heard footsteps leading towards me. I wasn’t alone. Usually, one cannot hear another’s footsteps, especially when they are of the barefoot nature, that and the fact that I was currently dreaming; wasn’t I? Yet hear them I did and what met my sight will forever be burned into my memory. As if she had walked out of the wind itself. The very notion of time seemed to disappear as she appeared on a path towards me. Her long brown hair danced in her wake. Her flowing white dress seemed to be me moving with her very being, accentuating her features in an angelic like manner. And for a moment I feared to blink. She reached where I was standing, my mind clear like an untouched forest pool, I looked into her dark green eyes and saw the answers I seeked but never asked the question of.

Now you are probably thinking that of course he meets some beautiful girl who solves all his problems, everything starts off bliss and animated animals follow the two wherever they roam helping them make beds and whatnot. I wish this was the case, actually no I don’t, that would be a bit weird even for me to comprehend. However, what follows isn’t the arc of some fairy tale romance, this isn’t a normal story, life doesn’t work that way and so does not this tale. We must be strong for our young protagonist, the human mind can be wrought with danger, one small misplacec step and you can lose yourself.

Deep down Tom knew that onday he would have to face the torment of the past that harboured within the ever-remembering walls of his psyche; the question is – would he be ready to face what he had once buried?

She folded a few strands of hair back behind her ear. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And then she spoke.

“Imagine it, imagine knowing the answers to all life’s questions, to see the path you were meant to follow appear in front of your eyes. No longer would you need to connect the dots, hesitate, um and ah. You just know.” I was encapsulated by what she was saying as the blue sky suddenly turned to that of an orange tinged twilight. The world was changing and my feet were rooted to the grown like a tree, steadfast and uncompromising.

She continued. “how would you handle this type of information, this type of guidance, would it change how you lived? Would you begin to finally live?” Frozen. My body started to come alive like a frozen lake being walked upon as the cracks spiral outwards like spiderwebs. First my feet, then my legs and all of a sudden my heart. I have never been struck by lightning but surely this is the closest thing to it. I looked at her, deep into her eyes, searching for some glimpse of a faux reality, to prove that this was all but a dream, an imagining of the mind. The wind kissed my lips and she reached and took my hand. And with that simple gesture, the part of me that still clung to the paranoia and the cynical left my soul. I just believed.

(This is the beginning workings of a novella, I will try to continue writing it daily, and begin researching more to really bring it alive, any book suggestions that you think may help or that sort of follow the theme of my story would be greatly appreciated, also feel free to critique it too.)

Life

It’s hard life. I don’t think they make this clear enough in schools. Sure, we learn how to add and subtract, divide and multiply but no one really tells you how much of an uphill battle life is.  It often feels like that life is a race. The gun goes and the runners take off. Yet, what about those who miss the start? Who take a while to get into stride and find a position? Of course, there are those who hit the ground running and who seem to have the wind itself at their command and therefore at their backs. Life doesn’t feel like that for me. I’m trying to grasp the notion of it, to make sense of it and I feel as though I’m struggling to find my standing, or in this case my stride. And I can go on about how life is a journey and all that bullshit – but seriously when all is said and done I’m terrified that at the end of it all I’ll still be trying to find my way. Time is fleeting, everything feels so rushed. We have to succeed, we have to show everyone how good we are, we must stand tall amongst our peers, secure steady work and pretend that it is our true calling and something that we want to do. Such bullshit. People tell themselves that “oh I’ll follow my heart but first let me do this job that I somewhat hate but is impressive to talk about at dinner parties.” It makes me so angry how much importance people put on what you do or what you are suppose to do. “No, sorry I don’t want to be a journalist, yes I understand I have a double degree in the subject area but honestly I was misinformed and not brave enough to switch. I was scared that I wouldn’t be employable with a creative writing degree.”  And yes, of course, I understand we have to work to support our dreams at things we genuinely don’t want to do. However, one should never put their hearts calling on the side-burner. Treating it as something you will get back to in the future. Life is so short, what happens tomorrow is an unknown. Why wait? Why risk living a life unfulfilled if tomorrow isn’t a guarantee? Don’t cheat yourself. In a hundred years no one is going to give a shit about what position you held or title you obtained. So follow your heart for goodness sake. Work hard, work relentlessly and never settle. For we are what we think, and we are what we do, we are the path that we choose to take not the one someone else believes we are destined to walk through.  Don’t act, this isn’t some play. Disregard Shakespeare’s quote (although it is good) “all the world’s a stage and all the men and women are mere players.” And honestly I can see that this may read as incredibly hypocritical, because I know fuck all about life, basically all I’ve said has been thought and said by others before me and are things that I have drawn upon, not from personal experiences I have lived, which is heartbreaking. But I do believe that one shou ld follow their heart as mu ch as they can. And I promise you and myself that I will be a prime example of someone who follows their heart. Stay tuned things are about to get interesting, we have only just begun.

I hope, I dream, I think

I hope, I dream, I think. I hope, I dream, I think. At times I feel shame for who I am, but now in those times instead of fleeing or feeling guilty, I invite the shame into my chest. Into my heart. It is but an emotion. One that I don’t label as good or bad, it is just a part of someone who isn’t used to who they are becoming, who hasn’t yet realised their true self, their identity. And yes, I will admit that sometimes I feel bitter towards others who seem to fit the mould of what society wants in a man. Yet from now on I will embrace my sensitivity and my femininity. I have been truly blessed with these gifts that allow me to sympathise, to relate, to ultimately just feel. I would rather feel a kaleidoscope of emotions then be someone that I am not truly meant to be. Yes, this is my youth. And looking back, I probably haven’t seized the opportunities as best as I could have. I write well. That is it. Yet I want to be able to write better than simply well, and I will. Yet my ego isn’t driven by such things as fortune or fame, I just want to realise myself, to come to a point in life, when I am standing of the precipice of existence itself and be able to say that I am finally me. I will smile when this day comes, I will be at peace. Now I have long way to go, my heroes journey is just beginning. However, this is probably the best stage of a newfound journey. I will experience a magnitude of things as I move ever forward to my destination. I chase that feeling that I have felt during the embrace of the unknown; excitement, fear and just the feeling and very essence of being alive and living. I want to live my life to the fullest. One step at a time, each day I will realise my gift until I can eventually give it away. Words I write that aren’t mine to keep, I will strew them out across a global landscape and then hopefully someone who is in the same position as I am now, will reach out and take hold of them. They are yours my friend. I just borrowed them for the time being. Words are infinite, so shall be my life. My memories will carry on and a piece of me will be embedded into the souls and minds of people across generations. This is just a mere dream for now, but I guarantee it will become a reality. It will be interesting to see how my dreams and reality will eventually match up, I doubt they will. Yet it will be nonetheless magical, nonetheless a miracle, and nonetheless special.

I lose myself everyday

I lose myself everyday. The man I believe I am meant to be when I fall asleep at night, does not seem to be the man I am meant to be in the morning. Before sleep: Energy, motivation, ambition. After sleep: Dazed, confused, directionless, tired. I have slept but I am not rested. I need to remember what I need to be, what I am meant to be. Yet even if I do remember, why is it that I can’t fulfil my destiny? My mind is foggy, I have sabotaged myself and it takes days to bounce back. I need to start doing things that feed my soul no matter the condition I am in mentally, physically, emotionally. Just do it Tom. No matter what just do it, you are meant to shine. I feel like I’ve said this countless times, and I have probably let a lot of people down in the process. I can’t seem to do anything but fail. Revert back to mediocrity, lost in a continuous maze of stunted growth, wandering aimlessly in the dark, hoping, praying, that someone will reach out and take my hand and lead me toward the light. Towards a life I was meant to lead. I can’t continue to wait for that though, this isn’t a fairy tale, if life was easy then I probably would be doing it wrong. Miracles don’t happen to those who wait. You have to go out and explore, my journey is just beginning, I can turn it turn it around, no longer do I have to lose myself everyday. And although I keep trying to change, failing. Stating I will change, failing. Trying to do things differently, failing. One-day it will all click and I will forget all about these lost years and that will be that. I will walk off into the sunset and the Tom that was here in this moment will never be heard from again. I will triumph, mistakes are mine to do whatever the fuck I want with them.

It’s so dark at the bottom, I can’t hear anything, do thoughts have sounds?

That’s Life

C’est la vie.

People with talent always have the wrong impression that things will go as they think. I have nothing. My carefree non-committal attitude has rightly assured me of that reality. It is fair. For sometime I have failed to apply myself, I let the chips fall as they may and therefore I was always destined for disappointment. Life has cut me down. It had to, it had to level me, in-order for me to spring back up. I believe I am enormously talented, but in this moment in time I am a novice, I have not learnt how to be worthy of that talent. In the past I refused to meet any challenge, unless it was on my own terms. How was I ever suppose to grow with this approach to life? On the surface the whole thing of discipline seemed arbitrary to me, but deep-down I now know that life isn’t about grades and whatnot. it is about rising to the occasion, tasting the rapture, triumph and disgrace of failure. They go hand-in-hand, one is meaningless without the other. To win one has to lose! The difference between the novice and the master is that the master has failed more times then the novice has tried.

As I’ve made my way through life, I have felt the might of the current of society in my way and there were certainly times when things didn’t go as I had hoped. When this happens, no longer will I look to society for a cause. I do not renounce society. Frankly, I would probably be wasting my time. Instead I now just say, “That’s life!” And move on, in an a somewhat awkward but destined manner through the spectre that is life

Tears

I lay on my bed. My eyes closed. I try to steady my breathing. I’m not sure why I am like this, I find it hard to calm myself. Shallow breathing, I try and swallow my tears. Yet they fall. they always do. And deep down I know why they do, but I cannot say it aloud. I long to speak the words that outline my grief, painful as they may be I think they would sound soft against my ears.  Would I feel relieved? I’m not actually sure what I would feel. Uncertainty perhaps? My arms ache, my body is tired and I am exhausted. I hope I can find sleep. I wish I could be me. I’m not sure if I will find an answer as I lay here, sheep I will not count. The room is dark – and I am here. I like the smell of the night air. For a moment I feel at peace, maybe my tears have stopped? I feel a dry residue upon my face… I breathe out a sigh. My tears no longer fall, and I drift off to sleep.

To be Loved

Why do we sabotage ourselves? I look towards the night sky as if pleading with it to lift my infliction. I torture myself with thoughts of her and why? Let time move, I tell myself as the night air brushes my cheek. Let time pass. Heal the aches that encompass my heart, bring me back to the now. My eyes see what is not there. Plagued by stories that are all but fantasy, yet they appear before me if they were real. “Don’t believe them!” I tell myself, do not torture yourself with made up tales of misery. Lift yourself up. I begin to walk along the path, the dirt feels reassuring beneath my feet. I breath in. I live. You see as I begin to walk I begin to let go. My destiny needs to be reached, I’m not going to close the door on it. No. I will walk forward. Live. Live. LIVE, I scream into the echelons of time. Find sanctuary in life. Let her live hers, I bid her no ill will. Now you live yours. My journey has just begun. I start running now, as tears begin to stain my cheeks. A smile breaks across my face. I am free. Let the stories unfold within my mind. Let them stream countless visions of endless tales. But let me live my story. I WILL LIVE MY STORY. I will set myself free. My arms outstretched I cry great sobs of salvation. It hurts. Life. God how it hurts. But isn’t it simply the most beautiful thing? The experiences we share, the people we meet, good, bad whatever – they do not decide who I am. I am Tom. There is no one but me in this moment, and that is okay, I am enough. I will be enough. The stars begin to fade now, one by one, like distinguished flames from candles burned to the wick. Sounds of the night vibrate through me. I am so tired yet I can’t stop smiling. One day I will find who I am meant to find, who I am meant to love. Maybe some will call it a fairy-tale. Maybe some will call it fate. I’m not sure what I’ll call it yet . I will know when I meet her though and she’ll know too. Words need not be spoken. We will smile at one another and know. I can’t wait. Will I feel relieved? Happy? Euphoric even? Honestly though, I think I will feel loved. I breath in. I breath out. Let tomorrow come, though pain I may carry I have to rise, I have to move forward. I have to one day meet her!

Some day’s are brighter than others

Some days are brighter than others. You’re probably thinking, “yeah no shit it is called weather.” Fair point, but even on the brightest days the shadows of life can obstruct ones vision. What I am saying is that this is a tale of how, for a brief moment, my life felt bright on both the inside and out. I don’t need you to believe what I have to say, for I can hardly believe in it myself. This is my story, we all have one that defines us, that makes us who we are.

The darkness rivals that of the light – eternally at wars within ourselves like a tempest storm. Painting a picture of our life within its rage. I am struggling yet I am living. I keep falling, yet one day I will rise and tell the greatest story that will herald in a new beginning. A change that will be born from teardrops themselves.

Words…

               words…

                             words.

They intertwine with my soul, with my very being. Let them come to me and tell tales on the darkest day through to the brightest nights. Voices of stories from years go carry me forward as if directing me to my purpose. Some day’s are indeed brighter than others. But the dark days are where I am made. No remorse I shall feel for hardships endured. Make me struggle, make me fight I will march forwards and write. My words will fall into people’s minds, their hearts. They will dance within their dreams. 

There they will remain.  This a story that is true. It is mine, humble in origin, far-reaching and everlasting. And as I write and the pages fill with words, below the small glow of my desk light, I hope I can relieve myself of the weight this story has placed upon me. I don’t regret living it, why should I? It is mine. I am the teller you are the reader. However, say them I must because I believe a number of people share my pain/euphoria. And they usually remain quiet or unforeseen. This is our time to be heard, please never feel ashamed for what you are. You are you. I am me. And as I write these words, our words, please just remain true to yourself. I love you.

I will continue story everyday until the end of the year. Let’s see where it will take us.

Why I want to tell Lies for a living

Let me start off by saying that I have no idea what I’m doing. For those who know me this is probably all but apparent. Don’t worry, I get it. Yet this isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, I have no rules to which I need to abide by. In contradiction to this though I have somewhat of an inclination of what I’d like to do. Therefore, I’m just going to go and do that. Which is to be a writer. To tell stories and make things up. To lie for a living. But before you go all Pinocchio’s dad on me, whose name is Geppeto in case you were wondering, these aren’t bad lies I am talking about. They are my truths. What I believe to be true. Beliefs that I hold close to my heart and if it weren’t for writing I may never get to express. Fiction is the lie that tells the truth. There is someone out there who needs my story. Who, without it, may grow up to be a different person, and who with it may find inspiration, or wisdom, or hope or kindness within my pages. That’s why I want to write, and that’s why I owe it to readers to write well. My biggest fear is that I’ll publish a story that is dull and may turn someone off reading and that is a scary thought. However, I’m willing to face that fear because I know that my words will reach someone, I have to believe they will.

I’m going to break off into a bit of a tangent here and make a declaration.

Reading is cool.

Writing is cool.

Libraries are cool.

Cool is a four-letter word with two vowels and two consonants. And I know this because of reading and writing. That was a full circle moment which is cool.

I digress, what I ultimately want to do is to inspire kids to read. Albert Einstein once said that “if you want your children to be intelligent read them fairy tales.” “If you want them to be more intelligent read them more fairy tales.”

Now I’m not saying I’m the authority on what fosters intelligence just because I have read a lot, far from it. I mean, I once tried to wash nail polish off with water, common sense isn’t exactly my strong point… Another example is when I was tired in class. My friend asked:

“Why are you tired mate?”

My response was: “I was up late watching Tangled last night.” Great movie by the way.

Not sure if the second example was really necessary, but you get what I’m saying. But I do understand the value of reading and imagining. I want to be able to help provide a world where future generations read and are read to, imagine and understand. Where people are not afraid to put on character voices when they read aloud to their kids. It may be true that individuals may just be a grain of sand in the context of society. Yet it is individuals who endeavour to change the world and imagine a different future. Don’t think you can’t change the world, you can. I want to change the world by telling lies to children in the form of stories and do it all for profit – I’m joking – sort of… In all seriousness though, everything was once imagined by someone after all. Just pause for a moment and look around your room, everything you see came from someone’s imagination.

Yet just doing something is so much harder than it sounds, but it also can be the easiest thing imaginable. And I concede that there are a lot of things I need to do to grant me the freedom of getting to where I want to be.

I want to be the creator of worlds, an intrepid explorer of far off places that no one has ever dreamed of. To bring forth characters that will break your heart or become your best-friend. I want to write books, movies, and perhaps even comics – so one of my first step towards this was studying Journalism. Because journalists are allowed to ask questions, to venture out into the world and discover how things work. Journalism teaches you how to write concisely, to a time frame and ultimately to write well under pressure. Journalism is a key for me in creating good art.

I’ve often thought that the great writers were all in a position, not unlike a position you probably have found yourself in countless times, sitting at a desk, putting words to paper. The very words that I have encountered in countless books. And they do so in a way full of such wonder and beauty. And then I start to think, dammit why don’t my words read like that? Then I start questioning my faith even though I’m not a man of faith. I say some unsavoury things to myself, my computer, even my lamp. But I don’t mean it because I love lamp. But that’s life, I’m humbled to be able to read the works of true literary giants, to immerse myself in their worlds in the form of escapism, and when I emerge it almost feels like I’m gasping for air. There’s nothing quite like the drive that fiction can ignite within you. That need to turn the page to uncover what happens next. And by doing so you are forced to learn new words, to dream new ideas, to see things from a perspective once unseen. Reading is key. Words have so much power. They have forged empires and shaped nations. And that is why I want to tell lies for a living. Words are eternal and will outlast us all in the end. I want my words, my truths to last longer than my lifetime, to live on in the hearts and minds of others. To leave my mark on this world for the better. To give people that warm feeling you get when you finish a book that you wish you could forget so you can enjoy the experience of reading it again for the first time.

 

 

 

The Untimely Death of Peter John

It was winter of the year 1853. A large man stepped out of the doorway. And stumbled into the cold winters night. Were it not so late he probably would have collided with a carriage head-on. But the street was empty. He sang to himself merrily while he danced drunkenly, yet almost gracefully under the glow of the street lamps. His name was Peter John. The man with two first names serving as both his given and his surname. The drunkards at the pub would usually switch between calling him Peter or John depending on the given night. No one ever called him Peter John though – as if addressing him as such was out of the question.

The cobblestone street clicked under his riding boots as leather met stone. The cold of Winter cut through Peter’s trench coat to the bone, even the added layer of alcohol was no match for this northerly wind.  Peter shielded his face as he tried to remember if his house was down Kensington Lane or Rosewood Street. Definitely Kensington Lane, Peter thought to himself. And he began to sway and amble the dance of the drunken-man until eventually arriving at his little cottage at the end of the lane.  The snow shrouded his view until he reached the front door and took out his set of keys. Too many keys for one man he thought, as they clanged together almost like a wind chime. They had a sort of melancholy sound to them and Peter felt the pang of despair creep closer to the surface for a split second.

“Blast it which one is it?” Peter said tersely as he fumbled the chain of keys.

“You didn’t use to have such trouble with keys Peter, then again you didn’t use to drink as much either,” a female voice said as she chuckled to herself.

Peter turned around and saw Amy and the colour drained from his face.

“How…how are are…you…how are you here Amy?” Peter felt sobriety instantly take hold. Alcohol hadn’t made him hallucinate before but shit he had drunken enough that who knows what it could do.

Amy continued to smile but she couldn’t hide the sadness in her eyes. Like the small remnants of mist on a distant field, sadness cloaked her. Under the light glow of the street lamp Peter and Amy looked at one another, each searching for an answer within the other’s eyes, but none would come. Peter grasped his keys firmly, feeling the cold brass push against his skin.

“Here allow me,” Amy said moving forward and she took the keys from Peter and inserted them in the lock which brought about a rewarding clink.  This was the house they had shared together and as if stepping back in time they entered together.

Once into the entryway Peter halted frozen to the spot. Before him was a ghost, his wife who had been deceased for three years to the day. He nodded to her as tears welled behind his eyes. Some men seek fame and fortune in this world, and then are the remarkable ones like Peter who sort love. Nothing more but to love and be loved. He had realised that dream in Amy – his one true love. The problem is, that when you believe in one true love, you can never truly love again. Peter had loved Amy, that was that. He would not love again. His heart ached, as he ruffled his woollen hat between his fingers.

Amy took a seat by the fireplace and stoked the fading flames with some kindling. Peter removed his trench-coat and scarf, he let them fall to the hard-wooden floor.

Then the sudden realisation dawned upon Peter – he was dead.

Unfortunately for Peter as he left the pub last night he did meet a stagecoach head on, killing him instantly. Yet still his spirit remained.

“Amy…am I dead?”

“Yes, my love,” Amy said softly.”

Peter fell to the floor, his hands clenched rendering them as white as winters snow. For a ghost is as white as winters snow and what Peter now was – what he had now become – was a ghost. He looked up at Amy, shadows from the fire danced across her face. A tree branch scratched at the window as the wind took hold of its limbs. Peter raised himself up from the floor and took Amy’s outstretched hand. He seemed to have accepted his fate, because here was his beloved. Though he may no longer be able to live he would also no longer be able to feel pain. They were together again. Amy led Peter up the stairs and into the light, bringing an end to that cold winters night.