Can you hear that? Strings covered in frozen ice sing in the wind. A hush of the air blows by, spreading particles of snow through the ever snowy hills. The Earth is singing! Though there are no trees here. Though there are no plants. The Earth continues to sing. The Requiem makes her way through the arctic lands, one slow step at a time. Her boots sink into the snow, chilling the few toes she has fought so hard to keep. But the cold does not stop her. No, the icy landscape has always been her home. She walks until the hills turn flat. A shovel and a drill. Both used to open the floor to reveal a lake. The Requiem unsheathes a long grey pipe, wrapped loosely in string. Along the top, the string leads into a pile until she lets go, letting it sink into the open water. She sits along the edge and waits. The wind pillows into the hole and lets out a low hum. She relaxes into the noise, enjoying her favorite song. Tightened against her back is an old grey backpack, she slings it along her body and reveals a hollowed out bone. Carved from the arm of a seal, grey wires cage the top and bottom of the bone, a line of tiny holes grow along its shape. She sings along with the Earth. Pressing soft airy notes out of the bone flute. A tug on her pipe has her set the flute down and pull up the string up, revealing a translucent fish. Shimmering beneath the bright sun. The fish does not bleed red. No, it bled a clear fluid, more like water than blood. One look at the sun tells that hours have passed. The snowy hills leave no mark of where she is or where she has been. But the winds tells. Through its harmonic hum, it tells The Requiem where to go. She does not miss the trees, and she does not miss the plants. Green may be the color of the Earth and of living things, but it is also the color of rot. And so, the Earth can sing without fear. In an abandoned station is where she makes her rest. Using the blubber of a past seal is where she cooks the translucent fish. Sitting in a corner of insulated blankets, she finally eats. The meal warms her chest before she lays down for bed.

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  Can you hear that? Strings covered in frozen ice sing in the wind. A hush of the air blows against the metal walls. The Requiem cannot sleep. The song is beautiful. And in that moment she knows it's singing to her. The midnight sun. It welcomes her presence, spreading light onto her heavily covered skin. The sun cannot sleep. No, it can only sing. A more forceful wind rushes into her back, pushing her further into the lonely hills. Though lonely, The Requiem has never felt alone. She lets the wind guide her, relaxing into the slow pace, letting the harsh gusts hold her up. Farther and farther does she go. Encompassed in a sheet of pure white. The Earth, it sings louder and louder. Farther and farther. Louder and louder. The Earth’s song screams against her ears, but she can only laugh, filled with joy from its dissonant melody. The wind stops, but the song is still there. The Requiem continues forward until the snow beneath her feet falls. She lands on her back and pulls herself along the snow until it’s safe. Hidden within the plains of white is a cliff. She crawls to the edge and looks within. Bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies lay within the cavern. They are unclothed, burned red from the pitiless sun. And they scream. An agonizing, soul deep howl. Sunken eyes thrash within their haggard bodies. The squelches of meat being torn from bones ring out from those too hungry to care. Some still move, though, at a slow painful crawl upon the motionless others. The deep cavern echoes out their curdling sobs. The Requiem sits herself along the edge and listens. Their song. It's beautiful.

  Can you hear it?