Book Of Narratives

Icelandic Wilderness

Up in the Icelandic wilderness, where there is only solitude and quiet for company, a French traveller of 34 years crouches down low near a hole of around 10cm diameter: almost like an endless pit of darkness. There, surrounded in the void, are glistening and luminescent silhouettes of dark deathly fish floating about, relishing and thriving in the chilled icy water that is their home.

Isolation.

That's all that greets him. Nothing but an intoxicating silence: it hugs around him comfortingly, and, if he thought hard enough, he could imagine being embraced within his mother's arms: warm and safe. The silence is so huge, that it wraps around him like a serene bubble, coaxing him into a peaceful state of relaxation. Even the breath of the wind quietens, even any amount of life comes to a stand still.

Beauty.

The beauty of the icy cold terrain is what brought him here. The idea of an intense and thrilling adventure, the quietness of the atmosphere, the amazing culture. Everything about Scandinavia enthralled him in such a why, that he wishes he could be there forever. Forever in that lulling serenity. Including the Aurora. He had originally came there to see the Northern lights: the translucent shapes of snake-like lights, colourful and bright. He was excited for the beauty of the night life. But, half way there, he found himself transfixed on the wilderness and the culture, seemingly in a hypnotic trance that he can't seem to get out of. Not that he minds.

It is truly bliss.

**

Author's note:

Honestly, I don't like this narrative as 1) this was a part of my homework and 2)I hadn't had much inspiration when writing this which is why it's shorter than usual. So yeah, but I am still putting it on here just for the sake of it.