Puddles

I have made many snowmen in the past. When I was a child, my snowmen were always effortless.

Yesterday, I tried to make one. I rolled up the snow and I piled it up in to a vague shape. I stuck in sticks for arms. It wasn't any good. I left it there.

That night. I heard a knocking at my door.

I opened it, and there was the snowman.

"YOU'RE PATHETIC!!" bellowed the snowman, pointing his stick-hand at me. I slammed the door in his face, then ran to the bathroom. But a snowman I had made as a child was standing outside the bathroom window, his thin arms pressed against the glass and his mouth open. I pulled the shades down. I peed.

Then I ran back in to the middle of the house. Only to discover that there was a snowman at every window of the house, peering in. They were all screaming insults at me. Then, they started throwing things in through the windows. Rocks. The rocks hit me and stuck to my body and I could not get them off. I screamed, and coal poured out of my mouth. I fell on my face.

The snowmen were climbing through the window now, laughing coldly. They formed a ring around me, and I watched, powerless, as they smashed my most prized possessions.

They had turned on me.

And then, they were melting.

And the house was melting.

And I was melting.

All of us were melting under a big magnifying glass.

I was holding the magnifying glass. It was a giant version of myself that came from the past, or perhaps the future...was it dead? Or was it just greasy? Either way, I wanted to examine myself, to see what minor flaw in my personality or my thought process had led to this disaster. But my curiosity became a force of incineration. The heat from the magnifying glass was too strong, and my observation led to OBLITERATION.

It only lasted a night.

The next morning, everything was back to normal. Except my hands were sticks.