Ice-Cream.

by Claude

The rain got me thinking about the sun. The way the heat would hit you like a physical wave as you left the classroom. Your shirt would stick to your back, and the areas under your satchel straps would get all wet. As you walked along on the bicycle track, the jacarandas a purple haze above your head, you could hear the ice-cream boy ringing his bell at the end of the street. Your mouth started to water as you thought of the Zoom, Nutty Choc Ice or a plain orange lolly, and the air seemed to get hotter.

The tar started to stick to your shoes, and the sweat band on the regulation school hat started to itch. Tickey in hand, you approached the big, black, ice-cream man, still jangling his bell, and timidly asked for a "tickey lolly".

He smiled, his teeth so white on his dark face, so smart in his Dairy Maid uniform, and opened the lid of the box, the dry ice causing a cloud of smoke to rise up from it's depths. You peeked inside as the colours of all the wrappers seemed to swirl together, and with a little thank you, took hold of your prize. A quick blow into the paper wrap to loosen it from the frozen ice, and you were sucking on the bright orange delight.

Soon the melting lolly started to drip, and no matter how fast you licked, an dozen little streams of orange water dribbled down your hand and onto your arm. The dribbles from your mouth as you tried to suck the fluid in ran onto your white shirt, causing a brownish stain on your white school shirt, but� you didn't care, for you were six in sunny Rhodesia.