Day steamed summer perfect. Chocolate was on her mind. Not hot liquid or bars, but frosty, topped with whipped cream, crackling with ice.
She let him dip his straw to join hers, pulled in the last few drops as he tried to tug them his way.
Both, hot for chocolate.
Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. She delights neighbourhood cats with her singing.
A final luxury granted to the condemned: “How would you like to go?”
He contemplated deeply, finally requesting the warm numbness of hypothermia.
In this land of sun and sand, his choice spoke to a greatness of spirit that moved the tribunal’s hearts.
But it didn’t move them that far.
Today’s story is based on a title suggested by @stealingzen.
It was so oppressively hot outside that I could’ve fried an egg on my forehead (so long as I was wearing a camping stove as a hat and had a tank of propane and some matches handy).
So I went inside, turned on the air conditioning, and took a nap.