Disclaimer: This is a fiction written for a contest that required a short story of 101 words or less. I didn't win, but I still like the story.

Cold

By Lady Shalott

Gray skies leered behind her windowpane. Rolling over, she hit the snooze button. The bed was warm, outside wasn't. Another occupant made soft noises, and she looked at him in disgust. He had been her prize last night. The prize she had won for pulling off that Paris Hilton act, the one that screamed, "Look at me, take me home." Now Sunday morning saw wet gray skies, and she was rolling him out of bed and tossing him his pants. It was getting later; the rain was laughing, and she was giving the eulogy at her father's funeral this afternoon.