Sunday Photo Fiction 3-8-2018

26 Jade Wong March 4th 2018

© Jade Wong

Sunday Photo Fiction


The snowman stood, smiling his silver smile, silver bow tie stuck to his neck with a small twig.  Nobody noticed him. One thing about being made of snow, he always blended in.

Behind him, kids played, shreeking with laughter. If only he could laugh, but no throat, no laugh. Just another deterrent of snowman life.

He’d never seen play before, or kids. Were they little snow beings with little silver bow ties and silver eyes? Or were they something else, something stolen from snowmen myths?

Ruing the lack of feet, scraping snowman butt, he inched around. Somebody in the Snowman Bureau of Affairs needed to do something, pass some law, issue an edict. Snowmen must have feet. Anything else was gross discrimination.

The shapes called kids flashed in his side vision, but they didn’t look like little snowmen. What could they be? Maybe he would be the one ….

A bat smashed into his head, snow flying, eyes and nose and mouth scattering like snowflakes in rain.

“One more down. Let’s find another one!”

 

 

9 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction 3-8-2018

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