Foreboding fills the cold, flat land of Terror. Wind whips a harsh chill into frenzies. Snow drifts across sharp ice blades. It buries footprints.
“It’s bleak and inhospitable. Why would you wish to visit, but as a kind of punishment to yourself? You have done nothing so wrong," says the Guide.
Dry ice, stings fingers and toes. It saps their blood and leaves them frigid. Paralysis sets in and limbs become immoveable. Terror lies inland away from sea and ice floes. The wind howls all night long. Snow boulders tumble. At dawn, a dead yellow sun rises. It offers little warmth. At dusk, the grey sun sinks and creatures miss the warmth.
Terror’s beings stand as ice statues frozen in place across the land, feet lifted a step above the snow. Their limbs reach forward, but become stiff. They hover in place and later some fall heavily, blown down by wind. Others stiffen and freeze slowly eroding away.
A dark flow in the cold, opaque, endless choppy Sea of Terror off the ice Isle of Terror. The waves wash over the floe and leave the ice thick and slippery, a slope down into the sea, too cold for life.
Any who slide in instantly perish. The frigid bodies float in the dark waves. Frozen limbs, arms, legs, heads balanced on slim necks, break off in the storms and bob as broken ice chunks in the sea.
Still, helicopters land on the floe and beings pile out onto the surface, which seems vast but is too small to support all who arrive lured by the unique land and to see Foreboding.
They stay in Foreboding's ice caverns, sleep in its ice hotel and mostly and drink black vodka from frosty ice mugs at its ice bars with ice countertops. Ingesting the liquid colored by squid ink, they become warm and cold inside. They play chess to pass the time waiting for the ships to come to take them to empty Terror and hoping all the while as well that those same ships will never come.
What is this? Emotion 365 project, Every Day a New Land of Emotion
“It’s bleak and inhospitable. Why would you wish to visit, but as a kind of punishment to yourself? You have done nothing so wrong," says the Guide.
Dry ice, stings fingers and toes. It saps their blood and leaves them frigid. Paralysis sets in and limbs become immoveable. Terror lies inland away from sea and ice floes. The wind howls all night long. Snow boulders tumble. At dawn, a dead yellow sun rises. It offers little warmth. At dusk, the grey sun sinks and creatures miss the warmth.
Terror’s beings stand as ice statues frozen in place across the land, feet lifted a step above the snow. Their limbs reach forward, but become stiff. They hover in place and later some fall heavily, blown down by wind. Others stiffen and freeze slowly eroding away.
A dark flow in the cold, opaque, endless choppy Sea of Terror off the ice Isle of Terror. The waves wash over the floe and leave the ice thick and slippery, a slope down into the sea, too cold for life.
Any who slide in instantly perish. The frigid bodies float in the dark waves. Frozen limbs, arms, legs, heads balanced on slim necks, break off in the storms and bob as broken ice chunks in the sea.
Still, helicopters land on the floe and beings pile out onto the surface, which seems vast but is too small to support all who arrive lured by the unique land and to see Foreboding.
They stay in Foreboding's ice caverns, sleep in its ice hotel and mostly and drink black vodka from frosty ice mugs at its ice bars with ice countertops. Ingesting the liquid colored by squid ink, they become warm and cold inside. They play chess to pass the time waiting for the ships to come to take them to empty Terror and hoping all the while as well that those same ships will never come.
What is this? Emotion 365 project, Every Day a New Land of Emotion
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