The Short Life of a Snowman by Casey Coleman

I was born on what humans call a snow day. On these days all the kids stay home instead of leaving for 7 hours on a loud yellow bus. 

My first memory was of a young girl straightening my head onto my two-part snowball body. I couldn't
smell, see, or touch yet, but I could hear the laugh of the little girl as she and her mother collected
various parts of my body. 

Slowly but surely I gained my senses. Two black stones on my blank face allowed me to see the
snow-coated neighborhood where more like me were being constructed by other young kids. Next, the
little girl traced a smile with her glove and then alined a simple black string along with it. Finally, she
pushed a carrot into the center of my face, giving me the ability to smell the hot chocolate the young girl's
mother had just brought to her. The two sat on the front steps of the house sipping their hot cholates
adding more and more marshmallows with each sip. 

The mother took their empty mugs into the house and the girl began to roam the front yard in search of
my arms. She found two scraggly twigs which she poked into the sides of my stomach. Feeling
accomplished, the little girl stepped back to look at her perfect creation. 

I looked across the street to find another completed snowman, except he was gloriously dressed with a
bright green hat and a fuzzy pink scarf. My string smile began to droop into a frown. The little girl,
confused, followed my gaze to the dressed-up snowman at the neighbor's house. She ran inside,
making sure to stomp the snow off her snow boots before entering her home. One of the bedroom lights
flashed on and a few minutes later, the little girl appeared in the doorway with a hand-full of bright colored
hats and scarfs. She digs through the pile in the doorway and finds a blue striped scarf and a bright red
Santa hat. She excitedly raced toward me and placed the festive hat on top of my head along with
precisely wrapping the scarf around my non-existent neck. Lastly, she turned my frown upside down and
once again stepped back to admire her snow day's work. 

The sun began to set, and the young girl's mother called to her to come inside. Slowly but surely as the
sun finished setting each light in the house turned off. 

I waved good-night to my fellow neighborhood snowmen and began to drift asleep, knowing what the
morning would bring if the temperature was above 32 degrees. 

Unforutanlety, I awoke to the rising sun burning my fragile body. I began to shrink down into the now
visible muddy grass, and after half an hour, I was melted down to just my head. 

As I heard the distant rumbling of the loud yellow bus, the young girl came bursting through the door with
her lunch in one hand and backpack in the other. She quickly swung on her backpack and ran down the
lawn, stepping on my remains. As always, the bus came roaring up the street picking up the little girl and
other neighboorhood kids who has left their snow-day creations behind. 

Minutes later, almost in sync, all the kid's mothers and fathers were in their front yards, picking up mine
and the other snowmen's borrowed accessories, leaving me as only a memory.