Warmth

Warmth.
Warmth is something to be bartered for.
A jog in the hail can teach anyone that.
It's of upmost importance, something taken for granted.
I envy those indoors with a passion.
A primal jealousy rises in me at those who are exempt from my troubles.
The cold tinkers with the natural laws of my body, jabbing maliciously at me with wicked laughter as it throws freezing drops of rain in my face.
My arms are as clubs, my legs stinging with each stride as if being stabbed by a thousand knives.
An icy rock forms in my chest as my heart battles the encroaching cold.
My head becomes sore as the wet seeps through my ineffective layers of clothing. “Give up! You can’t succeed!
Just walk for a while.
It’s okay if you walk, trust me.
All you need is a little rest.”
That voice is screaming its calm voice in my head,
taunting me,
coaxing me.
But I ignore the demons’ voice.
I push forward,
ever forward!
Valhalla awaits!
I am on the Perry expedition,
driving towards my own north pole,
my home,
my castle,
my warmth.