They say there are no such things as desperate situations, only desperate men.
The diorama of the winter cabin is a beautiful scene. Picturesque in a snowy landscape, a cabin lies locked. The cabin is the only solace from the chill of winter. At its door is posed a body, arm outstretched towards the door with its last gasp of energy before the chill of the dark winter claims him.
Beside the dying soul, other bodies lie, none able to breach the cabin. The door of the cabin tells the story of those desperate souls. Claw marks from fingernails desperately clawing at the door, gouges where a hatchet was used and scorch marks, yet the door remains firmly locked.
Desperate men have tried and failed to escape the cold. Their desperation painted on their dying faces. It is the juxtaposition of the scene that entails its beauty. The grim reality of a wintery death, contained in the absolute beauty of the snowy cabin in the woods.
We here on Deathrow understand the chill of a dark winter. We are the desperate men that have stumbled upon the cabin, our hopes of survival. In our own desperation, we find ourselves with but a single chance to escape the cold.
Yet the cabin for each of us represents something different.
For some folks, the cabin represents your fall from grace. The life you once led that now has turned its back on you. Zeus, one by one, locked you up and threw away the key.
For others, the cabin represents deals that have long since turned sour. You find yourself locked out in the cold from poor acts of judgement or a hard twist of fate. You seek to change the hand you’ve been dealt.
We’re each starving for an opportunity. But the only way through the door is to outlast the other desperate souls.
We will never see the beauty of the winter’s landscape if we focus on the fate we have been dealt. I too find myself locked out in the dark winter, but unlike some of you… I deserve to be here.
I do not claim to have been hard done by, or cheated into my fate. This is my cabin in the woods you claw at.
If you took the time to look through the windows, you will see the scene inside.
The beautiful splattering of blood that adorns the wall, the pool of crimson that lies on the floor and the bodies that once full of life, have now fallen silent.
What you don’t see by scratching at the door is the figure that watches. Hiding behind the tree, you see him only when you ignore the cabin. You see his knife, ready to claim another victim.
Ready to spill blood.
The more souls that fall at the cabin door just add to his artwork. For me, this was never about getting back through the cabin door. I enjoy the wilderness.
There’s plenty of desperate men here, plenty of blood to be spilled.
Come, fellow inmates. Let’s make a scene.