frozen - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Mila always said Travis was a freak. On the days that had everyone else frozen and heading for the nearest hot chocolate or coffee, he was off for ice cream at the creamery. With gloved hands she'd tug him towards the corner cafe and he'd pretend he didn't feel a thing. Then when they reached the glass front he'd just stop, staring at all the flavours. Then he'd turn to her with that face she could never refuse, his breath rising in miniature clouds and despite the frigid day she'd melt. A few minutes later they'd have a large raspberry sundae between them and two long handled silver spoons. After one bite all was forgiven, even in its coldness the reality was utter bliss.
It wasn't a pleasant coldness. It was the kind that made you walk all the faster and brace your head against the wind. No matter how warm the blood in your veins, your face got frozen just the same. In spring time the water lies softly on the ground, but on that day it was solid to a drop in every from it could take. From soft snow underfoot to the icicles that hung from the railway bridge and the black ice that lay in wait on the freeway, nothing flowed. It was a day to stay inside and tend the fire, a day to reread that old book and to bake those cookies you always eat too many of. So the fact that Kingsley had called me out on another one of his half-baked missions was eating at me worse than the bitter air. I knew as I walked that if his little foray didn't pay off I'd be roasting marshmallows in my comfy socks next time he sent his summons.
In that wasteland of white there was nothing for their minds to hang onto. There was no familiar sight, no sound other than the howling, even the light they needed to warm them was instead blinding and no match for the wind. Only the hearts beating in their chests stopped them from becoming as frozen as the landscape. When Lucy whirled around to at least see the tracks they had made, there were none. The only way to navigate was by the sun and in only a few hours it would sink below the horizon, leaving them shivering under the stars.
...the windshield was a frozen, opaque mass
The surface of the car should have been a glossy blue, but in the early morning it glistened pale under a layer of frost. On such mornings it's become my habit to lay my hand down flat on the hood to leave a print, I guess that's just the kid in me breaking out for a little exercise, a little dance in the sun. But this morning my hand stuck like glue and I had to yell for Mary to fetch warm water. The damn thing was frozen colder than a penguin corpse.
When Izzy approached the still form it was perfect in every way; from the white dress to the curled red hair she was bride-like. Instinctively she reached out her ungloved hand to touch her face, to wake her. Upon contact she recoiled her fingers as quickly as a child from a hot stove. But instead of heat it was the coldness that shocked her; in the brief touch enough heat was stolen to turn her lips blue. She took a step back, nursing her damaged skin in the other hand. The girl was frozen right through but looked like she might awake any moment and burst into song. Izzy pulled her radio out of her jeans pocket and called Ted, if anyone knew what to do it was him.
The object made no sense at all. It had no internal mechanism more complicated than a pocket watch, yet it was cold like dry ice. It was the size of a golf ball, round, but without the pitted surface and stuck to any bare skin in touched. Poor Nathan lost a chunk of his hand that way. If we dropped it into hot water it would turn it to ice faster than our cameras could capture the change. It was as if that tiny sphere could never take in enough heat and whatever it took it could never give back. It was simply frozen. We tried larger and larger volumes but to no avail. It made no sense at all that something so small had no limits. We would have tested it more but that's the last we ever saw of it. Whoever has it now will be exploring its uses no doubt. But to use an object is not the same as to understand it, and only from understanding can we further our scientific knowledge. And whilst I want the Nobel Prize, of course I do, it's the thirst of the quest that keeps me rising each day.
Pale, icy teeth adorned the ragged pines, snarling down upon his shattered, broken body. The pristine white pelt that cloaked the earth was stained with shades of pink and crimson where he lay, sunken awkwardly into the snow, gazing listlessly at the murky heavens, where the horned moon danced around wisps of silvery clouds. His battered frame shuddered, and his arm reached out towards the sky, perhaps a gesture to whatever god cursed him so, or an acceptance of the icy, numbing embrace of death. His heaving breath fogged the chilly air before him, once, twice... then no more.