Minesorrow

I'm sitting in a fancy, beautiful, modern apartment. I'm in the main room and it's night. The stars and moon shine through the windows. There's animals outside but not in here. Not in this dark place.

The torches are flickering and their burning light shows the slick, red, wet blood covering my arms and my face. The blood is streaked with tears. I'm crying and I'm not ashamed.

For a while things were good. I'd built my perfect home in no time at all.

I headed north from my homeland into the snow and the harsh, icy beauty.  I was looking for that perfect spot to build my new home.

I found a cliff face that had a conjoined, elephant's trunk of stone cascading out and down to the frozen water below. The stone was good, the views from the upper half of the cliff face stunning.

I gouged my way in, hollowed that mother out and started boring windows in the rock. I got carried away and before I knew it I had a skyscraper wall of glass facing out on three sides. The sunset and sunrise were stunning.

From inside, I could see the animals at play on the skin of their ancient cliff home, a skin made mostly from glass now. They looked like they had a swell time. It reminded me of all I left behind. All I missed in the night when there was no sun and no moon to light my way.

A guy gets lonely y'know? One night as I hid in the top floor I saw a sheep staring in at me making a mess of the glass. Licking and baaing with a confused look on his face. He reminded me of my old pal - Steve. I dislodged the window and let Steve in. He was a frolickin' and a fidgetin' all night but his antics lit up my face like a Christmas tree.

As I worked on the plans for my new extension - out from the cliff face and into the inner side of the elephant's trunk - I couldn't stop smiling. I felt more at peace than I had in months.

Dawn was coming. I was going to get started as soon as it was safe out, but I had this feeling that Steve would try to get out, as any critter will. So I decided I'd have to pen him in. I got some stone blocks and tried to herd him into a corner.

He threw a wary look at me as he backed away.

I managed to get him walled in with the first tier of blocks but he was faster than I and just hopped over them knocking me down on my ass. I'd have to detach the first tier and start again or I'd have sheep pens all over the place.

I got out my pick axe and I took a swing at the rock to dislodge it. I hit it and sparks flew. I shoved the first loose block into my store room. I came back to repeat the process again. I raised my axe again and swang again, harder. Steve flew in front of me, freaked by the noise and commotion.

I couldn't pull the pick back in time.

I'm sitting in a blocky, blood filled apartment. The torches are flickering lower now and their fragile light shows the dark wet patches covering my arm, my face. 

I'm crying and I am ashamed. 

Why the hell did I move? Seems that bad things just follow me around like the beasts outside, in the dark,with their demented howling, with the whine of arrows and the click of bone on stone...

If I can make it to the morning I'll look for another Steve. God please let me make it to the morning.