The Cold

Prologue

Cold.

Cold was getting boring. Very quickly.

It had been Cold for a while.

I hope it isn't Cold much longer.

Cold had teeth. Lots of teeth. The teeth were always hungry.

I was alone. With the Cold. Always.

I woke up to the sounds of plates on cups and running water. I was little. Not small, but little. That didn't bother me though. The littler I was, the bigger the world was. The more room there was to play. I sat up in bed and stretched, the sleeves of my pyjamas sliding down my arms. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and flopped out on to the floor, giggling. I rolled around like an idiot for a moment before hoisting myself up and padding over to the dresser. I pulled out a cloth and wrapped it around me like a toga, securing it in place with a cheap hairclip. I put a florescent blue cap on my head backwards. I pulled little black socks onto my feet and put thongs on over them. I chuckled at the absurdity of my choice of footwear. I tripped downstairs in my ludicrous outfit and barged into the kitchen.

"Aaaayyy! I come to steal your toast!" I ran up to Mum and Dad and grabbed their pitiful slices of bread off their plates. After a moment of stunned disbelief, they burst out laughing at the sight of me running and waving. I smile broadly and climb up onto the benchtop, giving them both back their breakfast in the most gracious manner. I looked hungrily into my mother's happy face. She ruffles my curls, an unnatural shade of pure silver.

"What do you want for breakfast Julee?" My mother asked. I put my tongue between my teeth and thought of the endless possibilities that present themselves when the times comes to decide; what to have for breakfast? A million things went through my mind, all jumbled together like a sticky mass of chocolate held for too long in one sweaty hand. Toastcakesaladwafflesmuffinscookiesandmilk- "Pancakes!" You shout, throwing your now greasy hands in the air. Mum clicked her fingers and spun to the fridge. You watch, thrilled, as your mother cracked eggs into a bowl along with butter, flour, sugar and chocolate chips. Dad opened a cupboard and pulled out a big, rusty frying pan and set in on the stove with a click-screech. He sprayed it over with oil and started the gas.

Mum and you took turns mixing the batter until it was smooth and fluffy, and then poured 3 huge spoons of batter into the pan, where they started to sizzle and pop in the most delighted manner. You clapped your hands with delight.

Back then there was no Cold.

Then they went away from me, and left me alone.