We Will Not Survive This

When we awoke from our afternoon nap, the sun had barely moved. And whatever movement there was from the sun, was to our disadvantage, as it had become only hotter. When you rolled over, and therefore on top of me, you asked me why this was. Why was the sun being so cruel? I told you I didn't know and that it was pointless to talk about, since we cannot control the sun. But it's four-thirty and only getting hotter. I told you to stop saying that word. Hotter. I Told you to tell me a story. You asked me what kind? Where should it take place? I said it doesn't matter, so long as it's in a frozen sea. Where nobody moves. You said why doesn't anyone move? I said it's up to you; it's  your story. You told me that no one moves because they like the frigidness and that being kinetic leads to warmth, therefore, everyone is frozen in place. They are like you and I, only they aren't miserable. They prefer this. They know that they will freeze to death. They've accepted it. I asked you if you if you've accepted it yet. You took a deep breath and moved your orange hair out of your eyes. Accepted what? Our impending doom from the sun? Yes. You paused. Have you? I said I hadn't. If only because I wasn't born into a frozen lake. But I'd rather have that, than this burning plain. Not like it matters. You laid back down, but you pulled away from me. I had lost your warmth - the only warmth I wanted. Then, the sun laid off and started to sink back down. It was starting to get cold. I tried to pull you back over to me, but you remained frozen.

Unbeknownst to them, across town, a hailstorm was rampaging and making its way towards them.