Frosty The Snowman: Epitaph

Frosty SnowmanDecember 02, 1952 A.D. – I am born once again. I do not know the how or the why; I know only that I live. I gaze about with wonder. I could not have imagined the incredible changes which have swept across the face of this world in the many centuries I have slept. Great stone towers belch clouds of black smoke into the skies. Strange boxes of moving light and glass speak and display images. Terrible mechanical beasts roam the streets, roaring and howling. I am filled with awe and fear. What has become of this world I had known? 



December 10 – I have come into contact with a small band of children. They seem to have taken a liking to me, and follow me everywhere. I cannot say I mind their presence terribly, but I do wish they would let me alone. They’ve taken to calling me “Frosty” which I do not appreciate. Is it not enough that the gods have cursed me with this ghastly malady? Must I constantly be reminded of my transmogrification by a group of sniveling rat-faced children as well? Fate is a cruel mistress.

One of the boys found a filthy torn top hat and a rotting tobacco pipe lying in the gutter and shouted “Hooray, let’s dress him up!” All of the others began to laugh and cheer, dancing around me and singing some insipid song. The boy came forward, jamming the pipe into my face and smashed the hat down over my head. I could only stand there, doing nothing and smiling my phony charcoal smile. I felt cheap and violated. But there was nothing to be done. My twig arms would have snapped had I even had the heart to resist.


December 15 – The sun eases out from behind a cloud. A line of cruel amber rushes across the ground towards me, burning away precious lifegiving shade. In these desperate moments I think of nothing but my own fragile mortality. Each day I become a little thinner. Each day my silken top hat sinks a little lower on my head. Each day I awake in a puddle of frigid water. I feel sluggish. Wasted.

I fear I am not long for this harsh new world.



December 17In bed all day...No desire for anything.

Pure Snow I dream of roaring fires. Of bubbling hotsprings. Of warm summer days.

To Cook. To Boil. To Sear. To Burn. To Melt.

The Thaw.

God...

I've got to pull myself together.



December 21 – The children have found me again. I was taking a walk through the park. Until now I had been able to avoid them by venturing out only when I knew they were in school. God, how I hate them. Oh, to wrap my sticks around their little necks and squeeze. To wring the life from their precious tiny necks.

There would be no more laughing. No more singing. There would be only the quiet of the wind upon the tund-

“We don’t have school today Frosty,” one of them chirps, “Let’s go play, Frosty!”

I shake my head.

“The sun is especially hot today children,” I explain, “I fear the temperature may rise above freezing. If this occurs, I would certainly perish.”

They laugh. They stand staring through me with beady eyes, heads cocked like birds. I sigh and nod.

“Fine. You want to have some fun? Let’s have some bloody fun.” I say through gritted coals.

The children laugh and yell and I began to run.

And the sun beats down.

Sun

I run. I run and yet I know it will make no difference. Escape is impossible. It seems the children are always just a step behind me, nipping at my heels like scrawny hounds. Soon I realize we are running along the outskirts of the village. I turn, making for the town square. Huffing and moaning. The children squeal with delight.

And the sun beats down.

Very soon now. With each step I splash and slosh; my very essence spilling out across the stone streets. Behind me the children laugh and sing. Troubled faces peer through clouded windowpanes.

And the sun beats down.

The sun. The sun.

I slog on. Squealing of tires. Light growing dim. Won’t be long now. Laughter flutters up. Muttered curses. Arms growing numb. Sliding out and clatter to the ground. Facial features loosening. Gasping for breath in terror. Nose coming free and the charcoal of the mouth and cuts short a low moan. Eyes slide free. Droping down, down. Darkness. Legs giving way and splashing out across warm sun-bleached pavement.

And now: Here is where I take my leave. Strangely, as I lie here, blind and mute and senseless in my formlessness, I find that I am quite calm.

An iceberg. A stream. A river. An ocean. Vapor. And snow once again. Soon I shall be nothing. Soon I shall be everything. Soon I shall be free of all this madness.

Melt Puddle

Frosty the Snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye
Saying don't you cry
I'll be back again some day