Frigid air
When I was little, my parents had an old and clunky refrigerator in the basement. It was pale green in color with a chrome handle, the serial number on it dating it back to the mid-1930s. It was the sort of fridge that even Tim Gunn would shoot himself over if he had to work with it. My parents stored various drinks in there, mainly sodas and beer for the guests when they had parties, and I became enthralled by it. It was so fascinatingly ugly and became amazingly cold when left alone for a few hours.
Sometimes, I would sneak into the basement, open up the door and steal a soda; something I rarely got to enjoy. During one of these escapades, my bladder became full and needed to empty itself, now. I ran back up the stairs and to the bathroom. After a nice long whizz, complacent in the fact that I had shot all of it into the bowl, I ran to my room and fell asleep, leaving the door to the fridge wide open.
I awoke to my father hovering inches over my face. "Ice," he stated coldly. I only stared back at him, panic rising. "Ice," he said again. Grabbing the collar to my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajamas, he yanked me out of bed and dragged me down the basement steps. I remember the sound of my feet hitting the wooden steps: *Scra-THUNK* *Scra-THUNK*. He threw me face down onto the cold linoleum floor, smashing my nose. Flailing wildly my arms and legs, I brought my hands up to my face to try and stop the bleeding. I looked up at my father with tears in my eyes and he pointed to the floor. The floor was covered in a thin layer of ice leading up to the open basement refrigerator.
"Look what you did," my father stated bluntly, "You took a soda from the fridge again didn't you?" Up until this point, I had thought that they never knew about my stealthy night activities. "DIDN'T YOU?" he suddenly flew up into a rage and grabbed me by the elbow. Sliding me across the floor, he tossed me into the fridge and shut the door.
I don't know how long I was in there. The inky blackness of the air tight coffin I was in swallowed me completely and it began to get colder. And colder. And colder. I remember that one of my uncles, Paul, a bad relative, found me when he went to go get a beer. He took on a satisfied look at me as I slumped out of the fridge and muttered "Deserved it." under his breath. I then lost consciousness.
I woke up in my bed with a large wad of tissue stuck up one nostril. I had a terrible fever and felt horrible for a week.
Normal?