Mockingly, the stygian clouds billowed over the dilapidated wooden structure.

A barely standing
bridge, the thick ice coating it might as well be the layer preventing it from crashing down. The ice
spikes lined the edges like gnarling teeth awaiting its next prey. A stern warning. The solitary
lighthouse stood at the end of the bridge, very still like a structure that had gone through the worst
of a blizzard. Maybe it did.

Harsh sunlight peeped. Spied. Glared. It managed to poke through the gaps among the thick coating
of clouds. The whole place was like the inside of a snow globe – chalky white and devoid of color,
with the only exception being the lighthouse, its walls coated in red. Red that pierced through the
white fog. Somewhere, a window slammed under the strong force of the wind.

I crept my way down the slippery deck of the wooden structure, the ice sheet crackling under my
feet. It was bitterly freezing with the cold air biting into my exposed skin. I took in a deep breath. As I
exhale, a wisp of warm air came out of my mouth, spreading out before fading. Reaching the
entrance of the lighthouse, I paused, realizing that everything has become quiet. The wind has
stopped. No wood creaking. No birds shrieking in the distance. The resounding silence pounded in
my ear and fear starts to wriggle its way up my throat. Time has stood still.