Melting

Melting

It was meltingly hot, which was a problem for someone made of ice.

She stared at her hands, normally a perfect cloudy glass, now slick and shrinking.

‘That’s it,’ said her roommate. ‘You’re coming to work with me.’

The cold storage at the supermarket was bitingly refreshing and she soon felt like herself again.

Her roommate’s co-workers were all very understanding. ‘There just isn’t good air con in the UK,’ said one. ‘Sometimes I think about hiding in there myself!’

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