Canadian marshmallow

The echoing, creaking halls of the orphanage were empty. All the inhabitants were lined up like ragged rows of cornstalks. The Matron glared at them. She pointed with an ominous finger at the thermostat. “There will be,” she intoned, “TWO TEMPERATURES, and two temperatures ONLY!”

Her eyes gleamed as she added with slightly too much enthusiasm “Cold and very cold”. She allowed her rictus to relax and laughed a little before turning to grab a

marshmallow. Then, she ran to the beach to take a swim. At that moment, she couldn’t describe her happiness though the marshmallow was cold. She shouted “Canada”.

“Canada...” the shouted word was lost among the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, and the marshmallows in her mouth.

She dipped below the surface of the water. I kicked off my snakeskin boots and dived in the water after her, following the marshmallows that were floating up from where she sank.

The marshmallows dotted the surface of the chocolate pond as far as the eye could see. Then, a disruption! The calm surface was broken by her sudden emergence—she clung desperately to the tiny white buoys. Our eyes connected and we knew. We were destined to swirl together.