It was meant to be a cold morning. Thomas knew this because it was August, the final month of cold. The road should have been coated in a thin layer of ice and cold fog should have sat thickly around the horizon. But it was not.

He couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of how, as he walked to the bus, his hands should be freezing. The blood should be flowing away from his extremities leaving his fingers to stroke the hair  in an uncomfortable freeze induced dreariness. He should have been hunkering his chin down into his high necked jumper so that only his eyes could feel the cold. He should have been shivering as he arrived to the bus stop, and yet he did not.

It was an odd feeling, waking so early and anticipating the coolness only to be greeted by a modicum of warmth. His whole body had been ready to grit through the pain of the cold and it was completely undermined by the worlds decision to have a warm day.

Thomas felt like he was in a dream, a strange dream that inverted the way things should have been. It should have been winter, he should have been cold, he should have felt awakened by the cold but instead it felt like spring, he was warm and was simply comforted by the completely ordinary ambient temperature.

There was a faint air of coldness, like the world remembered that is should have been winter. But it never formed itself fully into a solid idea, the coldness merely hung around the edges of the warmth, wondering whether or not it should make itself known.

A strange ay indeed Thomas thought to himself. Then he hopped on the bus into yet another perfectly controlled temperate environment and got on with is day.


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