My fingers crackle as the heater is off-turned, simulating cryogenics in inappropriate places. My comrades shiver as a man smackses another for being a terminal binky-sucker. Aye de mi ,but it's coldly frigid in the domain where I now dwell. Mine fingers grip this pen, only to be stuck like a gullible child's tongue on a steel sled runner. My flesh rips forcibly from my bony fingers as I remove the pen from my rocklike grasp with my chattering teeth. This feels odd because it doesn't hurt, the nerve endings far from liquid blood or the pain that it delivers. The meat crisps from the tiny ice crystals therein breaking and shattering like champagne glasses, their necks coiled around each other like breeding serpents, then ripped apart. Blood falls like tinkling pieces of red glass to the floor. I watch the shards as they bounce across the floor. An odd smile crosses my lips. I can't explain it , but I find this entirely too amusing. I sit and wonder why I am laughing. I suppose we all need to laugh sometimes and if it gets much colder I might not get another chance. I laugh harder and a burning sensation rips through my chest. The icy air pulls pinkish blue lung tissue through my closing throat. It hurts, but I laugh hysterically as it shatters on the floor and dances across the frost encrusted tiles. I sit and watch until my eyes grow brittle and cloudy. They split in half, the fluid inside frozen and expanded. My spirit isn't frozen though. I'd smile, but my face is as hard as marble.

12/18/91