Cold

By Meaghan Wildes

/ Third Place, 2026 Plentitudes Prize in Flash /      

“Hell has literally frozen over,” the weatherman says. “Well, Hell, Michigan anyway.” The weatherman grins at his own joke. You roll your eyes. The weatherman smiles like it’s funny that your town is colder than Antarctica. Like it’s funny that you can’t step foot outside your own house without potentially freezing to death in minutes. Like it’s funny that several people have died because of the cold.

You wrap the blanket more firmly around yourself. The thought to turn off the TV has crossed your mind, but you won’t. The silence would be unbearable. So, instead, you watch the weatherman drone on about the record-breaking cold. You listen to the newscasters discuss the rising death toll. You groan as politicians smugly say, “Where is global warming now?”

You lean back in your chair. You feel familiar springs poke into your back. You should sell this chair, but you won’t. Then you would have to sell Ellie’s chair. Ellie’s chair, the twin of your own, sits empty next to you. Layers of dust have gathered on it, heavy like a blanket.

In the beginning, you raged war with the dust, but in the end, the dust won. The chair was only the first battle. Now the dust claims the coffee table, attacks the kitchen counter, lays waste to the hardwood floors, and starts a new country on the kitchen table. The dust continues to plot against you as new colonies seem to appear every day. Out of habit, you find your hand lying on the armrest of Ellie’s chair.

The TV switches to a commercial about cat litter. A woman in black and white flings sand in all directions, completely panicked. The sound of Ellie's laughter seems to echo throughout the house. You can see her mimicking the woman, her mouth turning upward with every exaggerated stroke. A sudden, unfamiliar sound escapes your lips.

The TV has gone back to talking about the Polar Vortex. You find yourself thinking of all the voicemail messages. You haven’t received that many since the funeral. Your sister in Massachusetts asking if you are okay. Your son in California checking to make sure you have everything you need. Your daughter in Texas is begging you to come to stay with them. You eventually unplugged the phone. You hear Ellie chastising you, telling you to call them back, but you won’t.

The lights begin to flicker above you to their own symphony. Static has stolen the weatherman, his voice cuts in and out as he fights back. Everything goes out. Your home is completely smothered in inky blackness. You shiver in your blanket. You think to yourself that you should go check the circuit breaker in the basement, but you won’t.

Instead, you sit there in the dark. Your hand still rests on Ellie’s armchair. You close your eyes. You feel a hand reach for your own. A smile touches your lips.