A Cold Short Story

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Give my fingers five minutes, they will turn cold. It starts out a normal day. Sun shining in through a window, warming me up enough to brew a cup of tea, flip open a cigarette packet and begin to die slowly. It’s not that the act of dying stops while we’re asleep but well, at least we don’t have to think about it. Our eyes are shut to the new wrinkles on our fingers, the shaking of our hands, lapses in memory, stray greys, the lack of energy to go to the after party and surprise at the fact that you have a headache when all you drank last night was two beers.

I play with the sun. For someone who was born in the oppressive 50 degree heat of the desert, it doesn’t seem normal, but I like the sun. Most of the songs I’ve liked also talk about the sun.. coming.. here.. pretty darling. Anyway my fingers are now cold. It’s normally how they get. It’s usually the fingers, toes and the tip of my nose. …show more content…

One time, when the tip of my nose quickly refroze even after a few pecks, it was gently nibbled upon and then warmly kissed.

Of course, now that I’m here and the only thing close enough to me at this point in time is a swivel chair, my hands glide gently down my thighs and then find themselves ensconced in a gap that’s created for them between the fabric that is cushioned by my butt and the skin of my chair. For a while it stays jammed there, and then it’s time to come out, because it becomes inconvenient to type with one hand, especially when that hand increasingly becomes jealous of not being the warmed one. Right. It works the hardest too.

So, I’m going to find a cup of hot lemon tea and hold it, I’m going to put my nose in the way of the vapour streaming out of the cup. I’m going to blow warm air into my clenched fists. I’m going to cross my legs until they become

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