chill

by Cheryl Snell

She has cold feet and it isn’t even winter. Seeking warmth, she tucks her feet between his calves. He pushes them, along with the rest of her, off the mattress and continues to snore. Mama said there’d be days like this, she sings to herself, on the rug. She continues to hum for a while, but he doesn’t hear her. He never listens anyway, not in the best of times. She thinks about getting up but stays where she is until dawn silvers the curtains.

He mumbles her name, and then vaults out of bed in the direction of her reply. He’s a windmill of limbs, cradling her like something broken. Every piece of her is cold. He puts her socks on, bundles her in the quilt and lifts her to the bed. When he commas his body around hers, she wonders how much of his hug is medicinal and how much apology. Wonders why the bed won’t stop splintering.

Between cold
and the shivering numbness
absolute zero

Photo of Cheryl Snell

BIO: Cheryl Snell’s books include poetry and fiction. Her most recent writing has appeared in Maudlin House, Ghost Parachute, Flash Boulevard, 100 Word Story, Bending Genres, and Midway. She has stories in the 2025 Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions anthologies. She lives in Maryland.