In the very darkest corner, behind the davenport, there sat a little ice cube. Tears were dripping slowly, monotonously, hopelessly from its block-shaped face. The eerie moonlight peeped around the deserted room and revealed the most pitiful expression one could ever witness en the face of an ice cube. And the reason? The little ice cube was dying. Some careless reveler had flipped it out of a glass in one horrifying fling, and there it lay, in a state of inertia, awaiting the hideous death of an ice cube. Slowly, atom by atom, it was disappearing.
"The Last Ice Cube,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 16
, Article 26.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol16/iss2/26