Ice Cold

Steven shuddered again and reached his toe into the stream.  Again he pulled it back as the freezing water shot through his body like a bee sting.  It was like this every morning, it seemed to him.  His landlord assured him the problem had been fixed.  That trollish, impish man, with a face that looked like it had been carved out of driftwood was useless; simply a black hole into which Steven deposited entirely too much money every month.  Apparently hot water was too much to ask for.

            Steven held his breath, and jumped into the freezing water.  The scream he let out could have summoned skeletons from their tombs.  He was sure, even now, someone was placing a call to the police to investigate what could only be described as the screams of someone in the throes of death.  This would not be an entirely inaccurate description.  The universe was conspiring against Steven, and it enjoyed his pain.  He would not give it the satisfaction.  With gritted teeth he tried to hurry through his routine, quickly, but deliberately.  If he was going to die here, he would at least be clean.

            This happened all too often to Steven these days, so the hurried routine no longer felt foreign.  This was perhaps the worst part.  What would become of his life when this becomes the norm?  He thought this as he watched the chilly water splash against the palm tree shower curtain.  Susan had bought him that as a joke.  The joke, always, was lost on Steven,

The soap felt like hail against his skin, and he cursed again under his breath.  He imagined he was on a tropical beach somewhere, with the kind of beverage your drink out of a coconut shell in his hand.  The sun beating down on him felt wonderful, that unique feeling the sun give to human skin.  This, Steven thought, was a much preferable place to be than here, in his apartment, trying to take a shower with no hot water.