As published in the Waldorf University’s Crusader, Spring 2014, Volume 7
The ice cream was already melting.
She felt the bumps of her tongue hit the soft,
smooth lemon of Tweety-Bird’s head. Yellow
ran from her chin to her arms, washed over the wooden
stick with the cheesy joke, traveled down her leg to the gym shoes
she wore with no socks, and made a puddle at her feet. She tried
to suck the cold from her fingertips but the liquid slid down the stick,
growing around her toes, spilling over to the pavement. The two gumball eyes
plopped into this heap that now reached to her knees, building higher with each
lick. The ice cream pile flooded up to her nose, covering her mouth and face until all
that was left was a tiny feather of her hair, like a baby’s peach fuzz.