The Washing Machine has Frozen!
(Random 2-word prompt- laundry, frozen)
Flower turned the dial to the correct program and hit ‘start.’
The ancient and decaying washing machine clunked into life, its archaic pump chugged and rattled, and water whooshed from inside as it filled.
Flower sighed and collapsed into a sweaty heap on the communal seating in the centre of the laundrette; he’d spent the last hour running loads for the big guy, his boss. This was the last one, underwear, and it was urgently needed by tomorrow. Everything seemed to be urgent with the big guy, though Flower didn’t understand the reason this time; the big guy had demanded that every piece of clothing had to be clean and ready for a nudist retreat in the forest. A nudist retreat. Flower rolled his eyes at the thought, and wondered if nudism required constant undressing, then wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. It was getting cold in the laundrette.
He was alone. It was the middle of the night. It was quiet, except for the swishing and chugging from the device in front of him. He hadn’t realised how much work it would be, moving around laundry between baskets, washing machines, tumble dryers, and baskets again. He was cold and exhausted, but at least he was getting paid. Still, this wasn’t how most people spent their Saturday nights. He was sat watching an antiquated contraption struggle with its most basic functions instead of going out. Not that he had anywhere to go. Or anyone to go with. And he needed the money.
Flower shivered. It was strange to be this cold on a summer’s night, even this late. He got to his feet and walked over to the thermostat. The air con was off, but the temperature was dropping drastically. It plummeted toward zero. Flower had never experienced weather like this in the middle of the warmest season. Was it a freak storm? A sudden cold front? The weatherperson hadn’t predicted anything like this, though when did they get anything right? It was so cold! And so quickly! Within the short distance from the bench to the thermostat, it’d gone from cool to frozen. He could see his breath. He squinted at the controls and tapped some buttons to try and get the heating running. It didn’t work; the gadget failed. Cheap old rubbish. It would probably be the death of him.
Frozen to death in a crummy laundrette with someone else’s washing.
Not the worst way to die, but not the best either.
He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed his chest. His jacket was thin, not made for winter weather, and he only wore shorts and a t-shirt otherwise. He jumped up and down on the spot, trying to get his blood pumping, and watched as the windows turned white with frost.
A grinding, screeching discordant symphony filled the air in a sudden instant, and the room fell silent. The washing machine had stopped, frozen by the cold. Icy leaves and tendrils crept along the floor and up and over the rows of machines; cold vines embraced the baskets of clean washing he’d left stacked on top.
“No,” he whispered into the wispy atmosphere. The big guy would be mad. Flower could do nothing but stare as his evening of work, and his pay, was undone by the cold.
The bell rung as the door to the laundrette opened.
A great, hulking, hairy beast ducked itself in through the doorway, grazing and shuddering the wooden jambs with icy white-blue fur, and filled the room with its presence. It brought the cold with it. It was a massive hirsute abomination made of brawny muscle and ice, with a chest almost as wide as the creature was tall, and thighs wider and rounder than Flower. Its arms were long and ape-like; pendulous giant hands swung from thick wrists. It carried something. A basket?
“Sorry,” boomed the Yeti with a voice as deep as the valleys of the tallest mountains. “I’ll be in and out as quickly as I can.”
Flower just stood there, shivering, mouth agape.
The hairy creature ambled to one of the washing machines that’d finished its cycle long before Flower had arrived at the launderette. The Yeti flashed Flower an awkward smile, then used one of it big hands to delicately open the machine. It retrieved its clothing, a cylindrical chunk of ice filled with fabrics, and placed the block into the basket it’d brought with it.
“I hate when that happens,” said the monster as it closed the machine door. It glanced over to Flower’s frozen laundry. “Don’t worry, it’ll unfreeze once I’m gone.”
Flower couldn’t help wondering why the naked Yeti needed clothes, just like his boss and the nudist retreat. The creature didn’t leave much to the imagination, and its white-blue hair clearly didn’t cover everything. Flower realised he was staring at its prominent popsicle. He looked away.
“Have a good evening,” rumbled the Yeti, offence in its tone, and it squeezed its vast shaggy mass through the exit and out into the night. The bell rung as the door slammed shut.
As promised, the cold retreated and the warmth returned. The ice melted and evaporated. A winter night restored to summer. The ancient and decaying washing machine clunked back into life and swished and chugged once more. The final load continued.
Flower threw himself onto the bench, glad of the heat’s advance and that his work was almost done, despite the interruption. His boss, the big guy, Bigfoot, would be very upset if his underwear wasn’t clean. Especially his socks.
The End.
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