I don’t know.

'That’s how I responded when she used to ask me the same "When will you be back?" question. You’d think that after asking so frequently and receiving the same obvious answer, she’d realize that it wouldn’t change. It didn’t matter if she asked it differently, or if she asked it in the nicest way possible, it wouldn’t change anything, not a thing. Why couldn’t she understand that?'

'This nightly endeavor is something I repeat every passing day during the winter season. Even though I’m not out because I want to, as it’s an issue of necessity rather than leisure, it gives me something to look forward to every night. In fact, it wouldn’t really be far-fetched to say that it’s the only reason I even bother to come out anymore.'

'My reasons were sound. Even despite the more than unfortunate conditions of the frigid, winter breeze, my reasons were sound. Why? Well, the same reason you wouldn’t want to go out when it’s cold in the first place: it’s simply unpleasant. Going out, for me, just happened to be less unpleasant. Compared to what? To the practically useless piece of rotting flesh that only brings a world of protrusions and pain for me. My right leg.’'

'So...? How does the cold play a part in that? Shouldn’t it be obvious? (Obviously it isn’t). But come on, think about it. I was just going on and on about how much unpleasantness my leg causes me in contrast to the cold. Take a guess. Why do you think the cold is preferable to my leg? What’s the difference, what has to change? …I’ll spell it out for you. It’s my pain. It’s better when it’s cold, that’s it. But then you’d ask, Why not just lower the thermostat? And then I’d have to answer with the truth. Which would be: where I’m heading is the only place I can actually fall asleep. Even in the apartment I live alone in, I can't ever seem to drift off. I know it sounds crazy, which is partly why I tried to lie, but I don't know why.'

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

'Not-so fashionable streets that sloped up and down in random intervals were what I had to cross if I wanted to get to the spot. A few streetlights, a few crosswalks, a few light posts, and even a few people were the common additions to my frequent commute. I never stopped to glance at them, but I knew they were there. Really, my only goal was that spot, and I would reach for it only with tunnel vision. Besides, it wasn’t like I wanted to stop and take in the environment, anyway.'

'After a while, a gate to the familiar park materialized before me, defending its deserted contents from outsiders. If you peered between its steel bars, an array of trees pointed at you, its dead leaves strewn around them, acting as sentries, cautioning people to stay away. Obviously, I was welcomed in its arctic belly, as I had gone in without permission many times before. Surely, they wouldn’t mind this time either.'

'My steps were meaningful and succinct as I opened the rusted gate and limped my way towards the spot. My sneakers squealed as they trampled the concrete. My breath was bated and had a form in the air in front of me. The spot quickly came into arm’s distance, giving way to the cool black bench of my dreams. I made it.'

'I sat, and the familiar feeling of the metal in the bench searing my quadriceps enveloped me. My chin rested on the piece of the bench adjacent to where I sat on the double. I succumbed without resistance. I gradually experienced the regular drowsiness associated with sleep. And eventually, my eyes began to droop and continued to fall until they totally closed.'