I only vaguely remember writing this...

I was pretty lit...

Dwarves live in my freezer. Not normal dwarves though, these are cryo-dwarves. Every day they trek up north into the mountains and seek out a river of ice, a glacier. Wearing mammoth skin gloves and clutching tiny steel hammers they descend on the glacier seeking only the clearest of the ice which lives deep in the heart of the swift moving center of the river. Humming nearly subsonic, epic poems of their ancestors they laboriously chip away at the opaque, concrete like ice. They breathe in tandem, exhaling together in one great cloud of steam coalesces and freezes on the walls of the trench slowly rising around them. The first band of marbled blue-white ice uncovered beneath them signals the midday break. They rest their weary muscles and comb the ice from their beards while the greener of the group prepares lunch. They feast on succulent pearl onions grown in the salty soil of the subterranean and eat slices of cheese made from leopards milk. They talk about the condition of the ice today and the need for new hammers. The end of lunch comes too soon, signaled when the eldest among them rises and makes his way toward the trench. They fall back into their rhythm of digging and soon the blue-white bands of ice give way to the crystal clear treasure beneath. A mammoth draped with saddlebags lumbers to the side of the trench. The dwarves each load up with as much ice as they can carry and make their way out of the pit. They move south, as swiftly as an ice laden mammoth can move back toward my freezer. Once secured in my freezer they set upon each piece of ice with a precision caliper and carve perfectly uniform crescents that are stacked and secured with great care.

I approach the freezer, empty glass in hand. I humbly press the container against the ice lever, a deep rumbling comes from deep within the freezer. I wait patiently as the rumbling continues. A few shards bounce and klink their way to the bottom of my glass. The rumbling continues.