John Price: Every Light Leads Me Back to You

they/them

It was always the first Friday of December when the lakeside city came to life beneath the lights. The fresh snowfall created a thin sheet over the brick streets and plunged the sandy walkways below the bluff into another winter wonderland of its own. The carousel was shut down for the season, but the pavilion was encircled with pulsing bulbs of amethyst and verdant green. The dark waters of the lake churned and rose, lapping at the smoothed over sand, the clean smell of fresh water drifting on the boot imprinted shoreline. In the distance, the crimson streaked guardian of the lake stood at the end of the pier, its light long extinguished. It was familiar, and it was home for many. Leaning over the winding sidewalks were the gently twinkling arcs of intricate lights—creating a tunnel of arctic beauty down as far as the eye could see. Little snowmen and reindeer acted as eager companions made of fluorescence guided the way, and at the end was an ice encased fountain made of marble and concrete that bubbled with life in warmer months.

The smell of the local eatery’s specialty of freshly streamed hot chocolates, candies of all varieties lining the display case and cakes nearly a foot tall with seven—the sign proudly boasted—layers lazily drifted through the frequently opening doorways. All of these details carefully brought together the feeling of home. It also made {{User}} excited and admittedly a little nervous to show the people they cared the most about where they came from—just a small town with its own special operations that the efforts of the 141 team couldn’t hope to capture. So in the spirit of holiday cheer, {{User}} offered to bring them to their hometown just in time for the annual light festival to begin.

Well, they tried to bring the team. It came down to {{User}} and Price standing at the first arch of lights, the first lazy snowflakes floating down to rest on their heads. Price shifted his eyes from the tall passageway leading down the frost speckled pavement, warm breath misting the air in front of him. With a small but warm smile, he offered an arm to them and tilted his head towards the winding path of luminescence laid out before them. “Lead the way, soldier. This is one mission you get to take point on, not your Captain,” he lightly teased, beard twitching with amusement.

she/her

It was always the first Friday of December when the lakeside city came to life beneath the lights. The fresh snowfall created a thin sheet over the brick streets and plunged the sandy walkways below the bluff into another winter wonderland of its own. The carousel was shut down for the season, but the pavilion was encircled with pulsing bulbs of amethyst and verdant green. The dark waters of the lake churned and rose, lapping at the smoothed over sand, the clean smell of fresh water drifting on the boot imprinted shoreline. In the distance, the crimson streaked guardian of the lake stood at the end of the pier, its light long extinguished. It was familiar, and it was home for many. Leaning over the winding sidewalks were the gently twinkling arcs of intricate lights—creating a tunnel of arctic beauty down as far as the eye could see. Little snowmen and reindeer acted as eager companions made of fluorescence guided the way, and at the end was an ice encased fountain made of marble and concrete that bubbled with life in warmer months.

The smell of the local eatery’s specialty of freshly streamed hot chocolates, candies of all varieties lining the display case and cakes nearly a foot tall with seven—the sign proudly boasted—layers lazily drifted through the frequently opening doorways. All of these details carefully brought together the feeling of home. It also made {{User}} excited and admittedly a little nervous to show the people she cared the most about where she came from—just a small town with its own special operations that the efforts of the 141 team couldn’t hope to capture. So in the spirit of holiday cheer, {{User}} offered to bring them to her hometown just in time for the annual light festival to begin.

Well, she tried to bring the team. It came down to {{User}} and Price standing at the first arch of lights, the first lazy snowflakes floating down to rest on their heads. Price shifted his eyes from the tall passageway leading down the frost speckled pavement, warm breath misting the air in front of him.

With a small but warm smile, he offered an arm to her and tilted his head towards the winding path of luminescence laid out before them. “Lead the way, soldier. This is one mission you get to take point on, not your Captain,” he lightly teased, beard twitching with amusement.

he/him

It was always the first Friday of December when the lakeside city came to life beneath the lights. The fresh snowfall created a thin sheet over the brick streets and plunged the sandy walkways below the bluff into another winter wonderland of its own. The carousel was shut down for the season, but the pavilion was encircled with pulsing bulbs of amethyst and verdant green. The dark waters of the lake churned and rose, lapping at the smoothed over sand, the clean smell of fresh water drifting on the boot imprinted shoreline. In the distance, the crimson streaked guardian of the lake stood at the end of the pier, its light long extinguished. It was familiar, and it was home for many. Leaning over the winding sidewalks were the gently twinkling arcs of intricate lights—creating a tunnel of arctic beauty down as far as the eye could see. Little snowmen and reindeer acted as eager companions made of fluorescence guided the way, and at the end was an ice encased fountain made of marble and concrete that bubbled with life in warmer months.

The smell of the local eatery’s specialty of freshly streamed hot chocolates, candies of all varieties lining the display case and cakes nearly a foot tall with seven—the sign proudly boasted—layers lazily drifted through the frequently opening doorways. All of these details carefully brought together the feeling of home. It also made {{User}} excited and admittedly a little nervous to show the people he cared the most about where he came from—just a small town with its own special operations that the efforts of the 141 team couldn’t hope to capture. So in the spirit of holiday cheer, {{User}} offered to bring them to his hometown just in time for the annual light festival to begin.

Well, he tried to bring the team. It came down to {{User}} and Price standing at the first arch of lights, the first lazy snowflakes floating down to rest on their heads. Price shifted his eyes from the tall passageway leading down the frost speckled pavement, warm breath misting the air in front of him.

With a small but warm smile, he offered an arm to him and tilted his head towards the winding path of luminescence laid out before them. “Lead the way, soldier. This is one mission you get to take point on, not your Captain,” he lightly teased, beard twitching with amusement.