The Streets of Charlevoix are Frozen in The Winter
It was the year 2045, or so they think.
They aren’t really sure because they’ve been in this frozen hell hole for so long that the synapses in their brains developed to move at a glacial pace.
Thus, every joke, comment or insult is punctuated by an awkward pause. And then cue the response.
We start with a guy whose parents lacked foresight about the impracticalities of naming their baby after a color that is also a food item.
He is the sort of person who has the bravado of someone blissfully unaware of how daft he really is.
Lemon and all of his pals lived in quinzhees, or lumps of snow that people who lack knowledge in structural integrity call an igloo.
They endure an unshort, unpalatable and unhot winter, the end of which is unfathomable until they do what they must and kill it, because tradition dictates that in order for summer to come winter must die.
And so since the beginning of daylight savings time, the people in Tangerine’s village has interpreted this adage as finding a woman and burning her to the stake in a grand ceremony, because that seemed to be the most logical solution to their problems.
Of course they had one problem now, they exhausted their reserves of womenfolk, having already roasted them in quick succession after winter continued to batter the village.
Eggshell proposed a wonderful solution, they will all venture into the wild to hunt women who may happen to pass by.
His friends who are all operating on the idea that women are like beasts and savages eagerly agreed to this convoluted plan
So Coffee and all of the three other inhabitants of the village set out to the highway so they can chance upon someone they can immolate on a pit so they can have summer at last.
The brazen guy with the same name as a color that is also food wonders why the city looks no different from thirty years ago, Dwayne, his closest compatriot, a guy who calls the internet, the interwebs unironically, rubs his two fingers on his rakish goatee and declares, “I wonder….”
About fifteen solid minutes have passed since his declaration and all the others while away the time by staring at this forgotten piece of roadside relic that they last saw as a faint memory.
Pablo interrupted Dwayne’s train of non-thought who at this point was just standing with his mouth agape as saliva trails down the corner of his mouth. He says, “I remember now, we were on a Summer Road trip! We turned into this far corner when the car broke down, then someone had the idea to go to the campsite on foot.”
Then quietly, they all remembered, after that snow came.
The four of them walked into the empty streets and abandoned houses,
The air was still and quiet until Timothy broke the silence and said, “We never really burned anyone, right?” And he added, like the slow drip of Dulce de Leche, “Women would appear then disappear into this huge ball and then like a light switch the snow would melt into the ground and it would be so hot that we’d take off our shirts and go swim on the river.
Then the whales would come.
They tried to count how many times the succession of Winter- Women- Whales happened since the time they got lost trying to find a camping site. They couldn’t count past twenty four.
It was then that Key Lime Pie saw a faint glimmer of light in the distance.
The headlights of the fast approaching car blinded Timothy, who already had to live with squinty eyes. The car was blaring the sound of a siren, along with the words,
“WHAT DO YOU IDIOTS THINK YOU ARE DOING??!!?”
The car stopped an inch from Dwayne, who stands still with the ignorance of mass x velocity = force and how it could flatten him like a road side pancake, had the driver delayed the breaks by a nano second.
A stocky lady with a stately presence stepped out of the car with her pinstriped suit and black kitten heeled mules. She addresses Tarragon with the demeanor of superiority, something that he- as the undeserved Alpha male of the group- never experienced before.
The woman points to a barn house and asks, do you know that is not real?
She tuts and mutters to herself, “This is why your kind died out, y’all are just too stupid for words” She then faced the startled men, puffs her chest and boomed with authority
“You are all employed by the Confederation of Cuddles- Division 896, your duties are to care for the ecosystem of this Period Point. You are to provide an adequate amount of Fur for your employers and entertainment for the animals that coexist with you.
Gentlemen, may I say again that you are living in a Preserved Reservation.”
The lady in the suit, without saying Goodbye.
Then disappeared in a ball of light.