| " |
What a scene. The still-faulty weather control unit turned Locksmouth's pre-scheduled moderate dusting of snow into a big, growing blanket. To be fair, it works just the same for the intended purpose: giving everybody something pristine and beautiful to look at while they stay inside and snuggle with buds under the spread, chowing down on chocolate treats and exchanging gifts. I'm supposed to be there right now. But for some reason I just want to be out here. The cold is so isolating, even underneath the powered clothing. The snow deepens every hour. I stand here and wonder: is this what my neo-medieval ancestors had to do? What about the ones who came before us, the pre-splice people? Jacent shivers so hard when it gets cold. ... What about the actual wolves? The proud nobles of the forest, hunting and training others to be better than they were. Would they even recognize me, with my cozy house and heated clothes and comfortable layers of fat packed into my backside? Would they laugh at me, or would they see an animal underneath as well, and share a kinship with me? Would I feel closer to my inner wolf if I gave up all those creature comforts? ... Rhetorical question, of course. I want chocolate. |
