‘You insulate me,’ Ramanathan said, lying underneath, warm
and taut like baked bread.
I melted like mozzarella on a pizza. Oh, the pleasures of biting into hot crisp dough overwhelmed with steaming salty goo.
We were huddled four thousand feet above sea-level inside a tent during a hailstorm. Food rations had ran out three days ago. It was the perfect time to line the sleeping bag with our bodies.
‘Remember, we roll the dice in the morning,’ I said, recapping our covenant, ‘though I’d much rather have you alive than dead.’
I sighed.
‘Hey!’ He was offended, ‘I am good meat.’
*
This story was showcased during StoryFest 2020 @ StoryADay
