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Seven Days A Snowman

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By Olidood
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The first day I passed the snowman,
he was three orbs of perfection,
stacked up on each other like bleached pancakes.
His eyes were standard;
two vaguely-circular nuggets of coal,
placed not far above his sturdy carrot nose.
His nose,
in turn,
was placed not far above the forced -
yet natural grin -
created with the same material as his eyes,
though positioned in the upwards curve of a smile.
The snowman wasn’t alive.
But if he were,
he would be as happy as me,
as I walked towards the love of my life.

The next day,
we wore hats.
What I wore was nothing more than a standard winter hat.
But what he wore was elegant;
beautiful.
Not for this weather,
it was what one would wear
if they were going to a ball.
Yet it didn’t seem out of place,
on top of him.
And his nose drooped;
no longer perpendicular,
it was a few degrees down,
as the world was a few degrees up.
He had shrunk.
I didn’t notice at first,
perhaps because the hat he wore covered up his imperfections,
like my mask covered mine.
But as I passed him,
his eyes were few centimetres down,
looking to the ground,
where my eyes should be too;
because today,
me and my lover were through.

The next day when I passed the snowman,
I saw that he was dying, too.
His beaded grin was no longer a grin,
but a straight line of indifference;
as if he no longer found joy in sitting in the snow,
as the sun blazed down on his pale body,
but didn’t feel significant enough,
to complain.
He felt more like ice
when I touched him.
And the snowman did too.
His left arm had come unstuck,
and fallen to the ground,
into a small footprint;
presumably that of a child’s.
it was broken in two.
And I realised,
as I bent down to fix his arm,
that I didn’t have the tools,
or really care enough,
because I didn’t fix things.
I only made them worse.

On day four,
I decided that breaking up with him
was the biggest mistake of my life.
And this time,
when I passed the snowman,
I tore my eyes away,
and focused on my objective.

The next time I saw the snowman,
his inevitable demise was visible and forthcoming.
The hat had gone,
presumable taken back,
by the owner,
because this was no longer a snowman.
This was just snow.
His carrot nose pointed more to the floor,
than it did forward.
He was missing an eye,
and the other bulged out
like someone was strangling him.
And he was no longer three orbs of perfection,
stacked like bleached pancakes;
but two lumps of disgrace,
mashed together like two unwilling victims,
in a three legged race.
And his arms lay in puddles.
I tried to put them back in,
but the snow was hard;
so instead of sticking,
it cracked his body,
and a huge portion of snow-flesh fell off his back.
I dropped the stick,
and hoped I would be better at fixing things with my ex.

The sixth day was no better for the snowman.
He was nearing his snow-death.
His remaining eye was gone,
and his nose,
rotting on the floor,
next to the twigs he called arms.
He looked like a person,
with extremely poor dental care;
as he had only three teeth remaining,
which stuck out,
threatening to fall at any minute.
And he was not even two lumps,
but one,
disfigured,
ugly,
pathetic excuse of a body.
I looked at him with pity.
And I’m sure that if he still had his eyes,
he would look at me,
in the same way,
because the way we were dying?
If snowmen had blood,
I’m sure he’d bleed the same colour as me.

I never saw the snowman again.
The day after,
I saw a puddle,
in which lay:
two wet sticks,
one of which was broken in two.
One rotting carrot nose,
an abundance of black beads,
that were once his mouth,
and two vaguely-circular lumps of coal,
that must have been his eyes.
Yet between the latter two,
I couldn’t tell where his eyes stopped,
and his mouth began.
And the sun beat down,
on the remaining slush I could see,
cowering at the bottom of the puddle.
Just like I cowered,
and stopped walking,
when I remembered:
I was completely,
utterly,
one hundred percent,
unloved by the love of my life.
So I turned around,
went home,
and waited for next winter.
I've been working on this as one of my pieces of coursework for Creative Writing, and handed in the final draft yesterday so I guess that means time to share this with the cool dudes of Deviantart :-)
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© 2016 - 2021 Olidood
Comments1
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kyokota's avatar
That was ridiculously touching, amazing work.