"Very Fucking Cold" by Stanley Donwood
Everything was normal and as it should be until one day I woke up and there was something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but it was a kind of persistent thing that I couldn't quite ignore. Something was/
Have we been here before? Am I boring you?
I expect I am, but I don't care. Fuck you. Fuck off.
Just leave, if you want to. I don't mind much, not really. I'd like to warn you, if you're still here, that this is just a self-indulgent story. Like all the others. Like all the others. Everything is getting colder and colder.
So do you want this story? That's me, asking myself or this computer or something.
Do you want this fucking story?
:
Everything was normal and as it should be until one day I woke up and there was something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but it was a kind of persistent thing that I couldn't quite ignore. Something was cold and it was inside, not outside. It was like a place where someone had poked me with an icicle. A splinter of winter. The days passed like they do and I just got colder. The cold spread until I was like a sculpture of ice. I didn't sneeze any more, and I couldn't cry and if I tried to come it was like a tendril of porcelain. I was a solid man. You could throw rocks at me and it didn't hurt at all. I just splintered a little.
Perhaps fortunately, no-one noticed and everything carried on being normal and as it should be, all around me. But I was frozen.
Have we been here before? Am I boring you?
I expect I am, but I don't care. Fuck you. Fuck off.
Just leave, if you want to. I don't mind much, not really. I'd like to warn you, if you're still here, that this is just a self-indulgent story. Like all the others. Like all the others. Everything is getting colder and colder.
So do you want this story? That's me, asking myself or this computer or something.
Do you want this fucking story?
:
Everything was normal and as it should be until one day I woke up and there was something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but it was a kind of persistent thing that I couldn't quite ignore. Something was cold and it was inside, not outside. It was like a place where someone had poked me with an icicle. A splinter of winter. The days passed like they do and I just got colder. The cold spread until I was like a sculpture of ice. I didn't sneeze any more, and I couldn't cry and if I tried to come it was like a tendril of porcelain. I was a solid man. You could throw rocks at me and it didn't hurt at all. I just splintered a little.
Perhaps fortunately, no-one noticed and everything carried on being normal and as it should be, all around me. But I was frozen.