Fugitive Ice

An escaped ice cube sat stranded on the checkered linoleum, glistening like a fallen prism beside the refrigerator. I approached with measured steps and gave its frosted flank a tentative shove with my foot. The insolent block didn't tumble; it glided, skimming across three entire tiles with breathless speed before spinning to a halt against a cabinet toe-kick. Marvelous. Forgetting decorum for a fleeting minute, I gave chase, using the flat of my palms to redirect its slick trajectory between the table legs. It grew rounder, wetter, and utterly impossible to govern, leaving a glassy slalom in its wake. Who needs ancient spells when physics performs such delightfully undignified parlor tricks?