The Creature

The creature has no idea how he got to where he stands now, has no idea if he has been alive for endless centuries or has just come to be. He doesn't need to know. He just stands in the snow, the beautiful snow, unmoving as the level of the snow slowly rises, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter.

The creature has no memories of anything else, anything other than where he is now. But he would never wish to see anything else. This is all he needs. He would be fine with standing right there for now until the end of time.