At 12,500 feet, the crushing blackness jealously guarded its secrets. The powerful lights of the Argo reached no farther than 15 yards through the swirling silt. Like a rusty cliff, she rose from the floor of the Northern Atlantic. Titanic is found!
"Wanna go to a party?" "Sure," she slurred, "wh-where at?" "I got a buddy throws wild parties out on his farm..." "Let's go!" We stepped into the clearing, bodies dancing around a bonfire... and altar. "A sacrifice? The Master will be pleased!"
The horses nickered softly outside the ring of meager firelight. "Said they's headed for California." Ustes said, spitting tobacco juice into the fire,"'Too late...' says I, 'winter's comin'!'" "Who was they?" I asked. "I think they called themselves the Donner Party."
How cold, the frozen desolation of my soul. Alone...as each icicle keeps its own counsel through winter's chill. I stumbled upon a puppy, abandoned in the snow. As the snow melts from her fur, so too the icicles from my heart.