Impromptu twenty-minute procrastination short-short story.
I was listening to the radio when it started playing 'Frosty the Snowman'. I feel bad for the guy.
Frostbite
Those fucking kids. That fucking hat. All it takes is a little fucking magic to screw up a snowman.
I feel a new heart pounding in my poorly formed torso. It takes all my strength just to resist crying out in pain. How do you breathe without dislodging your icy insides? Gone is simplicity. Gone is my former life. And here, taking up space in my chest, is a horrible throbbing warmth.
Where do you run when you need to escape from yourself?
I take the journey in bounds. Ridiculous, leaping steps. I have no legs. I never needed them before this. They chase after me. Little monsters. Little brats. Little fucking sadists.
The rush of cars grows louder as I approach the outskirts of the city, the children on my tail. I can feel my new organs melting inside of me. I didn't need lungs before, but now I gasp and pant for as much air as I can carry. The sun is warm, but the hot hot heart pulsing its deadly rhythm is unbearable, scalding.
Where can you hide?
My head whips around, nearly jerking itself off my insubstantial shoulders, as I search frantically. Over the bridge? The lake is coated in a thick sheet of ice; it will pull me to itself but keep me alive. Into a building? The heaters to which those humans so desperately cling will consume me with their warmth, but I'm not sure how I could possibly take any more.
But there.
I take one more massive jump, into the middle of the road. Here come the cars. It won't be long now.
The kids can just fucking wait for the fat man. He'll set them straight. He'll come to them in the middle of the night, punish them for their cruelties, haunt their nightmares with his round red face.
I close my eyes. And wait.
Frostbite
Those fucking kids. That fucking hat. All it takes is a little fucking magic to screw up a snowman.
I feel a new heart pounding in my poorly formed torso. It takes all my strength just to resist crying out in pain. How do you breathe without dislodging your icy insides? Gone is simplicity. Gone is my former life. And here, taking up space in my chest, is a horrible throbbing warmth.
Where do you run when you need to escape from yourself?
I take the journey in bounds. Ridiculous, leaping steps. I have no legs. I never needed them before this. They chase after me. Little monsters. Little brats. Little fucking sadists.
The rush of cars grows louder as I approach the outskirts of the city, the children on my tail. I can feel my new organs melting inside of me. I didn't need lungs before, but now I gasp and pant for as much air as I can carry. The sun is warm, but the hot hot heart pulsing its deadly rhythm is unbearable, scalding.
Where can you hide?
My head whips around, nearly jerking itself off my insubstantial shoulders, as I search frantically. Over the bridge? The lake is coated in a thick sheet of ice; it will pull me to itself but keep me alive. Into a building? The heaters to which those humans so desperately cling will consume me with their warmth, but I'm not sure how I could possibly take any more.
But there.
I take one more massive jump, into the middle of the road. Here come the cars. It won't be long now.
The kids can just fucking wait for the fat man. He'll set them straight. He'll come to them in the middle of the night, punish them for their cruelties, haunt their nightmares with his round red face.
I close my eyes. And wait.