Frozen

This place had once been a mighty ocean. That was before. This is now. The ship sat on the edge of the impenetrable shelf of ice. On the bow of the ship a lone figure stood hands on the rail, shrouded in black, small and insignificant to the world around. This was his home. The derelict tilted cargo ship, slowly rusting with the ages. He stood gazing out at the plains of nothing, carrying on to the edge of the world. The figure left the rail and descended the the sloping hill of the ships deck past the ice locked chain that once held the ships anchor and made his way to the port door to the boats hull, a massive wall of iron with a misted portholl set just above head height, and a rusted iron handle fitted on its left side. He grasped the handle and heaved, the door groaned in protest, he strained and the door lifted before the handle slipped out of his grasp and the door slammed shut. He fell back, losing his ballace on the tilted floor. The door looked down at him, indifferent, uncarring. He approached it again, and again attempted to open it, this time he was met with success, he slipped inside the boat and pulled the door closed behind him before it passed its balance point and…