Frosty Sheets of Hell

Why must I live in this dreadful place? It is a winter purgatory. Nothing but

sheets of white blankets of frigidity as far as the eye can see. The sight of

that white hell is almost bearable but stepping into it and feeling that brisk

wind lash against your body like the coming of a thousand scorching whips; that

is my ultimate personal hell.

Why must I be here? Why must I be in this milky limbo? Why can't I escape this

snowy recess? I ask myself these questions every day. How greatly I wish to

leave this place now and forever and never think of it again. How greatly I want

to feel the sun beat against me and bathe me in its ray.

But that can not happen for the sun is nowhere to be found here, its heat rays

are all but obsolete when they finally come into contact with my body. I am

destined to stay here and allow the bitter cold to absorb within me. I shant

ever receive the warmth I so adore and yearn for.

I suppose I must accept the idea that I will never reside in my paradise; my

home will always be among these hellish surroundings. I will never leave this

place, for he admires it too much so. For him my white sheets of hell are pure

sheets of bliss; their frost is his warmth.

It is amazing how one being can have such control of another, but it is the way

and traditions are hard to break. So for now I can do nothing more than to live

in this hell, for I am merely me, there are plenty more of my kind, I am but one

and my sole purpose is companionship and labor. I can not disobey and appear to

have a mind of my own; all traditions would be broken then. So there is nothing

to do. I must be here, for I am but a canine, and must obey my master. So now as

I hear my master beckoning I shall follow him into my cold white hell.