I. I slide my hands down the slick, glassy wall of my cage, the cold burning my palms.

I am testing the limits, pushing as hard as I can to see if they budge.

Cracks form.

If it shatters, ice will hail down on me, shards of glass cutting my skin and crushing my bones. I push harder.

II. Cryonics save us for the future, but what if the future never comes? What if you leave me numb and frozen forever?

It is easy to forget a dead boy, even one who you swear you will thaw one day, when the others are full of red hot blood and emotion, wide awake and already alive.

III. Ice preserves, but I can't help but remember frost action from seventh grade science:

Water seeps into the cracks, freezes, expands, making it more broken than before.

Words seep into my pores and fault lines, and I turn so cold that they, too, freeze. If I am ever defrosted, will I fall to pieces too?