As I neared my home, I realised I hadn't brought my keys. I had just noticed the lack of their jingling, being as the wind was previously howling loudly in my ears.
"Damn it," I muttered out loud. An awful habit I had was talking to myself, although I call it 'talking out loud' to make myself feel a bit better.
I kicked the snow that had been cleared off the sidewalk into a pile, only resulting in colder and wetter feet. I looked up at the sky, admiring what stars I could see, praying they could take me away from here. Only in folktales did such miracles happen, but it never hurt me to try. Physically, that is, knowing I was doomed to go home regardless only made me feel mentally ill.
As I approached the house I call home, the lights catch my eye. They shine through the windows and on my outdoor Christmas tree. It, at first, makes me very proud that my lighting skills are so good you can clearly see my attempt at tradition. Then, the crushing realization that someone is in my house without my permission or knowledge sinks in.
My feet quicken their pace, making me feel like I'm lifting numb, dead weight with each step. The wind picked up as I did, giving me more resistance, and a shill in my body. Braving the cold I lifted my face in time to catch a shadow move in front of a light.
"What the hell?"
