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There is a life-sized statue sitting in my room. About the same size as me. A slightly finer build. But similar.

It is an ice statue. Carved out of ice. Sort of transparent and pretending to be solid. An odd blue tinge, probably from the blanket on my bed reflecting through the frozen water.

Once - last year when I went on a cruise - there was an ice statue. But it was made out of sea water. It was in the shape of a fish. There was a small part of a very large ocean sitting in front of me.

The fish didn't like being out of water (although it was water). It sunk back into the sea through the wooden panels on the ship's deck. No one tried to stop it from melting. I guess they kind of expected it to happen. Fifteen minutes of beauty was enough for them. I wonder if they got sick of seeing their reflections in the fish after a while. I don't know.

The statue in my room doesn't melt. It's been sitting there for a week now. This is the seventh night. That is a very very long time, for a statue made of ice.

It takes to me, infrequently. Two nights ago it piped up while I was changing outfits.

"I'm cold," said the statue. It wasn't complaining. Just stating a fact.

"That's because you're made of ice," I said.

"Yes," said the statue. It didn't talk to me after that.

I was changing outfits because I was also cold. I have always found that putting on extra layers doesn't make me warmer but changing clothes does. Maybe I am also made of ice and after a certain amount of time of being in a particular outfit the cold seeps through my clothes.

Or maybe I just have bad circulation.

I imagine the statue in my room turning to water. It forms a large puddle on my floor which surrounds my bed so that it floats a little. I can sail around my room on my bed-ship in the ocean that was once my statue. I can go on adventures and explore things I haven't seen before. I can name the coasts of my carpet after important people and draw maps of the walls. I can send letters home promising all the wonderful things this new world has to offer. Food and land and opportunity. People will rush here on their bed-ships to see it for themselves.

But they will get stuck.

As they sail into my harbour the ocean will turn to ice again. They will be stuck in the forearms of my ice statue and their bed-ships will not be able to move. They will never reach the promised land. They will not see the things that I have seen.

Someone with a lot of money will come along and move the ice statue, with all its stranded bed-ships, to a museum somewhere. People will pay lots of money to the person with lots more money to see it and marvel at it but they will not be allowed to take photos but some of them will try to anyway and get kicked out of the museum and have their cameras confiscated from them. They will tell all their friends about this thrilling adventure. But they will not have anything to prove it.