The frozen voice of a steampunk pterodactyl cracking its screams open like eggs of despair on the jagged edges of the night woke me last night.
Haha! I had so much fun writing that sentence.
It was all screeching metal and city spanning wings with the darkest things of nightmares attendant in its train. I ran to the window to prove this apparition of fear that had reached with cold claws and pulled me from my sleep.
This is what I saw:
Underneath the nine inches of snow that recently fell, a thick layer of ice has been lurking. That truck is an ice-eater (I don’t know what it’s really called but that is what I am calling it) and the screams I heard in the night were the cries of it feeding. Bon appétit, ice-eater. Bon appétit!