Cold

It’s cold.  So cold. I can see my breath, a plume like cigarette smoke.  Why should I think of that?  I haven’t smoked in years.  How silly…the cold must already be getting to me.  Why, I’ve only been in here a few minutes, just a few minutes, that’s all.

         How silly of me to let the door shut.  I should have remembered there isn’t an indoor handle.  I bet Mary is going to laugh at me when she lets me out.  She’ll come home soon—it’s Bridge Night, and it was almost over when this happened, I think.  She might stay out, but really, the freezer isn’t that cold.  I should make it for a while. 

         Good thing I’m still wearing my jacket, isn’t it?  I forgot to take it off.  I was so disappointed!  Now I’m happy I did.  I thought I might be getting Alzheimer’s since I forgot to take it off, but now that’s the last concern I have.

         Oh, but why am I telling you all of this?  You’re dead.  Completely and totally out of the ballgame. Somebody killed you.  They chopped your head open.  I can see ice crystals in the blood on your head.  The blood reminds me of a cherry Sno-Cone.  God, that’s a morbid thought!  But it’s true.  A cherry Sno-Cone in a waxed paper twist.  I remember those from when I was a kid, slurping down the colored ice, my tongue painted red.

         Where is Mary, anyway?  Surely it’s been long enough for her to come!  No—only fifteen minutes.  It’s only been fifteen minutes and already I’m going nuts.  And I swear it’s getting colder.  My breath is practically freezing in the air.  I can almost see the ice.

         Maybe I hope Mary doesn’t come.  Maybe that’s why I let the door shut.  Guilt.  I feel guilty.  I thought you were an intruder, you see—maybe it was dementia.  Or the Alzheimer’s.  God knows, half the time I don’t remember my name.  I thought you were attacking me.  I thought you were going to kill my wife.  So I killed you with the wood ax, just chopped your skull in half.  I couldn’t tell the police—they’d arrest me.  I hid you in the walk-in freezer, hidden in the very back.  Mary never comes in here; she always leaves it up to me.  Nobody would ever find you.

         God, it’s getting cold.  And I’m sleepy.  So sleepy.  Maybe it’s my bedtime.  Why don’t I just take a nap—Mary will be here soon enough…