fiction - brigits_flame - white

[hwango]

Erica stood on the tips of her toes and peered over the windowsill. Snow! After days and days of unseasonable warmth, dry air, and a just plain all-around uncooperative weather system in general, it had actually snowed! An endless sea of white waited just outside, beckoning silently.

“It snowed, it snowed, it finally snowed!” she shrieked as she ran in circles around the coffee table. The wait had been agonizing, but at last it was over. Why, it had been nearly a week – a whole week! – since she had seen “Frosty the Snowman” on television and become obsessed with the idea of building her own magical friend. Now, finally, she would have her chance.

Well, almost. First she had to put up with her mother armoring her against the elements with what felt like an entire closet’s worth of winter clothing. Erica grew concerned that if too many more layers were applied she would be unable to move her arms.

Once she escaped from her mother’s attentions she rocketed out the door and immediately began rolling up the largest ball of snow she could manage. Several minutes of ecstatic glee passed this way before a voice from the other side of the fence intruded upon her perfect moment.

“Hey, stupid – what’cha doing?” It was Billy Quinn, the boy who lived next door. He was a year older than her, and, as far as she knew, the most horrible person in the world. Through the hole in the fence she could see his stupid face sandwiched between his stupid hat and stupid scarf.

“I’m building a snowman, just like Frosty!” Erica said defiantly. “I found a hat in the attic that will bring him to life and he’ll be my friend and we’ll go on magical adventures together!”

“That’s stupid,” said Billy.

“No, you’re stupid!” said Erica.

“No, you’re stupid! Frosty’s not real! He’s make-believe, just like Santa Claus!” shouted Billy.

Erica was momentarily rendered speechless by this blasphemy. Eventually, she recovered enough to scream “You’re lying!”

“Nuh-uh!” Billy said. “Sammy Malloy at school told me Santa Claus was invented by Coca-Cola!”

“What do you mean ‘invented?’ You mean they made him in a lab like Frankenstein?” Erica asked. As usual, Billy wasn’t making any sense. Just because something was invented didn’t mean it wasn’t real…actually, being invented made things real, didn’t it?

“…yeah, just like Frankenstein!” Billy said after seeming to think it over for a moment. “Santa’s really a monster, just like Frankenstein, and when he comes down the chimney this year he’s going to eat you!”

Erica rolled her eyes in disbelief. How could anyone be this dumb? “You just said he’s not real. How can he come down the chimney to eat me if he’s not real?”

Billy stared at her as he tried to come up with some clever solution to this glaring flaw in his story. In the end, he decided it was best to throw a snowball at her, insist once again that she was stupid, and then run away. Erica declined to pursue the matter further and, once again free of distractions, returned to her project.

By the time Erica finished, her mittens were soaking wet, she’d gotten snow down one of her boots, and it had gotten so hot inside her cocoon of coats and scarves that she was sure she was about to melt. But it was all worth it. True, her snowman was a bit…unrefined. The arms weren’t the same length, one eye was a bit bigger than the other, and the whole thing leaned rather alarmingly to one side. And it wasn’t very tall, because there was only so high she could reach, even standing on an old milk crate. But it was hers.

Erica was about to place the hat on its head when she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to name her creation first. She considered several possibilities until a flash of inspiration struck. This flash was sent by the part of her subconscious that was still dwelling on her argument with Billy.

“I’ll call you Frank!” Erica said, and without further ceremony she clambered back up onto her crate, reached as high as she could, and placed the hat on Frank’s head.

Nothing happened.

Or, at first it seemed like nothing happened. There was no swirling wind, or flash of light, and her snowman didn’t immediately wave its arms and sing and dance. But, after a long moment, she was certain she saw it blink.

“Hello?” she said, tentatively.

“Hello,” it replied with obvious reluctance.

“Yay, you’re alive!” Erica said, hopping up and down in delight.

“Oh, and is there joy to be found in that?” said Frank. “Is my existence more than some burden to be endured before it inevitably fades? After all, am I not doomed to a slow, lingering death when Spring’s harsh sun comes to scour away my body? In that brief gasp of life I am to have until that time, am I not cursed to dwell in this misshapen form? Oh, heartless creator, what dread motives can you have for so cruel an act as to give me life?”

“Um,” was the best Erica could manage under the circumstances. This wasn’t going quite according to how she’d imagined it.

“But am I even truly alive? I find myself with neither purpose nor hope. Did you craft me without a soul? Is there even such a thing?” Frank said.

“Do you know any songs?” Erica asked, trying to change the subject.

“No,” said Frank.

“Oh,” said Erica. An awkward silence followed, which Erica would have been forced to admit was preferable to when Frank had been talking. “Um. I guess I’m sorry, Mr. Snowman. Er, Frank. I thought when I brought you to life you’d be happy and you’d be my friend and we’d have magical adventures like I saw on TV. And I thought you could go to the North Pole and not melt, and even if you did melt Santa said you’d come back as next year’s snow anyway. Or something.”

“Foolish child,” Frank said, “You think the world is nothing but your plaything! You cannot just tinker with life and death without regard for -” It seemed that there was to be more of this particular tirade, but an errant gust of wind knocked the hat from Frank’s head, where it had been rather precariously perched this entire time. Frank instantly reverted back to lifeless snow, which Erica would have been forced to admit was rather a relief. Probably for Frank as well, she supposed. She left the hat where it lay.

Erica sat on the crate and thought about what had just happened. After several minutes, she reached some conclusions.

It was possible that she should have taken more care constructing the snowman. It did seem unfair to have made Frank lopsided, and he’d seemed a bit upset about it. But the real problem was the materials she’d used – she had unthinkingly rolled up the ball for the head right through the snow where Billy’s snowball had landed. No wonder her snowman had turned out bitter and mean.

So she started over from scratch on the opposite side of the yard, far away from Billy Quinn and his corrupting aura of ruin. Erica was getting a little tired by this point, so this snowman was even shorter than the first. But it stood up straighter and was more symmetrical, with just enough variation to still give it character. She considered using an entirely different hat and a new name, but decided she owed it to Frank to give him a second chance.

Erica was about to place the hat on the snowman’s head when she suddenly realized something she’d forgotten both times. She fetched a spare twig and used it to carefully carve Frank a great big happy smile. Then it was time for the hat.

Frank turned out to have a fantastic laugh.

Comments

[gunthersdncemix.livejournal.com]

Awww.. that was cute, and fun! :)

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

Not sure if the icon is very apt - hate this new way of choosing!

I did love the idea of just carving a smile on the snowman's face changed his entire outlook and the had a wonderful laugh instead of being such an old grouchpot! Teehee and it really appealed to the child in me! Thanks so much!

[hwango.livejournal.com]

Arg, the new commenting system fills me with hate! Why?!

Glad the story amused, though.