Killing Frosty Slowwwly

My family and I made the bastard out of snow.  He stood there looking evil, staring right through me with those beady eyes.  It's now been two days and he's still there.  I wanted to take him out yesterday but had a change of heart when I saw Marissa staring back at me.  I imagined her screaming no papa and banging on the window with tears in her eyes as I slaughtered her snowman.

I never cared for snowmen.  I watched too many Christmas shows as a kid and I couldn't believe that something made of snow could come to life and walk around.  I made dozens of snowmen as a kid and none of them came alive.  It's not like I ever gave them the chance.  I always made sure I didn't leave them by themselves to sit in the sun and die slowly.  If I was that snowman slowly melting away I'd want to find the nearest sharp object and kill the heartless sob that gave me life in the first place.  A good sized stick would make quick work of frosty's knee caps and a few karate chops later there wasn't anything resembling the cold abomination from the rest of the snow.  It was an abomination.  What gave this thing the right to exist?

People reading this may take side with the snowman.  You might relate to it and childhood memories might prop up and bring you back to a simpler time in your life.  I understand how you took special care to craft the snow into a figure you could relate to.  Maybe your dad didn't hug you enough so you formed a male snowman, tall and caring that would tell you good job.  It wouldn't ever tell you to clean your room or that your mother was a whore.

I had a long day at work.  It's been 3 days since we made the snowman.  They were discussing a new name for him.  I was staring out the window with a glass of wine planning my attack.  I imagined a blowtorch going up and down it's back.  How was I going to make this look like an accident I thought?  Michelle asked what I wanted for dinner, but I didn't hear her.  She asked again "Honey, what do you want for dinner!?".  I was standing in my warm living room with a glass of wine, but in my mind I was pushing frosty into a snowplow.  Nothing I said.  I'm not hungry.  The sun was starting to come out and frosty's head was starting to melt.  I could just let him die naturally.  I think I'm going to scoop the sidewalk to work up an appetite I told my wife.  I thought I could kill it before dinner.  Take Marissa said my wife.

Marissa went outside and slowly walked to the snowman.  I didn't want that thing near her, but she was fascinated with it.  Maybe something about it reminded her of me and then it hit me.  I could no longer hurt frosty than I could hurt myself.  As I was contemplating that Marissa kicked the snowman pretty hard and bit into him.  We took a couple chunks from his mid section and made snowballs and had some fun.  We left him there and in a few days he would be gone, melted away and forgotten.