8/02/06, Falcon Scott Research Station, 2:38 PM

    The skies had blended into a shade of skim milk, making it seem the temperature outside was a comfortable 40 degrees Fahrenheit, when in reality your skin would dry out black and purple even if you step out for a second. I took necessary precaution against frostbite, tucking my sleeves under my heavy woolen gloves, and eating as much spicy pepper I could get my hands on. I sit writing beside an array of plexiglas windows, arctic terns fluttering outside like torn paper.

Expansion to "Frostbitten" series.