Iced

ICED



I ran to the front door, pounding on it with my fist. I was drenched in sweat, knees weak from exertion. When no one came right away, I pounded again, panic in my chest as it occurred to me that there might be nobody home.

“Hello?” I cried, voice echoing around the parched yard, dead plants hanging their wilted heads as if in shame. An unseasonal heatwave had been plaguing the region for over a month, and everyone was growing irritable and scratchy as a result.



The heat was the reason I was here, at my brother’s front door. After two weeks of constant arguing with my mother, things had finally exploded over something as insignificant as an ice cube.

“That had better not be the last one, missy!” My mother came into the kitchen just as I was popping the last two ice cubes out of the freezer tray.

“I’ll fill it up,” I said.

“You’re supposed to fill it every time! And where are the other two trays?” My mother glared pointedly at the two empty trays that I’d tossed into the sink. “What is your father going to say when he gets home and there’s no ice for his scotch?”

“It’ll be frozen by then, right?” I looked hopefully at her.

“It’s on your head if it’s not, girlie. Beware!" My mother stalked off, into the living room where the air conditioner laboured to take the edge off the heat.

“Why didn’t you fill them before?” I called after her. “You were in here! Don’t tell me you didn’t see them!”

“Not my job!” Her voice drifted back to me. Furious that she would let me take my father’s wrath, I threw down the tray I was holding and flew out the back door.