Fiction: A Man of Snow
A Man of Snow By: Erin Snyder I remember those blue eyes, because they were the first things I ever saw. I remember that mocking voice, because it was the first thing I ever heard. "Merry Christmas, Snowman." Yes, that was what he said. "Now live," he laughed, staring into my eyes of coal. I was so cold; there was so much pain. Why should a man made of snow be bothered by the cold? Ha! Men were never meant to be made of snow, and snow was never meant to be made into a man. Snow was never supposed to feel at all. I'd been alive for moments, and I knew this already. I knew because the power that gave me the ability to feel gave me knowledge, as well. Did the one who breathed life into me know this? I doubt he understood the depth of what he'd done, doubt he thought it through. He certainly did not know the full reach of this power, or he'd never have carved the rune that brought me to life. I knew my creator, for all things are born with