The Snowman and the Fat Witch

This is the story of the Heavy Snowman and the Fat Witch who turned his life upside down. He thought it silly for others to go off on adventures, looking for trouble, feeling that a settled life was a comfortable and pleasant one. Now reluctantly on an adventure with the witch, he would soon learn the virtues--and the unfortunate downfalls--of doing more than sitting on the sidelines.

There once was a heavy snowman who was just a boulder child covered in the latest downfall. Being a boulder child he couldn't move much, but seemed to like it that way. He's sit underneath the moon or the cold arctic sun and watch the days pass him by as boys and lizards and other things would run and chase each other across his path. He'd look at them and think, "one day they'll run straight into the sun and they'll see they should have settled down like me."

Every night the heavy snowman would close his eyes for what would seem like a night's rest, but he was simply listening to the wind and the stories it carried. After all, snowmen and boulder children alike didn't sleep. It was in their nature to listen. One little wisp often told him of a crazy man with a stick who'd chase large rich women, adorned with fur and pearls, through the parks and alleyways. When their air had run out and they were dripping from exhaustion, he'd watch them fall onto the pavement or the grass or the snow and bend down to see their eyes. Their eyes were always frightened and weak from the chase and his were invigorated. He'd look down at his victim and smile, wag his tongue at her, and then beat her over the head with his stick. It only took once to make the fat women fall asleep for a good while. He'd then grab the sweaty pearls and run off into the night. The heavy snowman never believed the story no matter how many times the wisp brought it to his ears. "Preposterous" or "silly" is what he'd call it. But of course, all truths have their way of surfacing.

One late night, heavy snowman found himself woken by the trodden footsteps of of a garnished lady of affluence. Her name was Mathilde and she wore enormous pearls and a purple dress; rubenesque from her head to her toes. Her weight jiggled as she ran and sweat streamed from her skin in sheets. Behind her was the rumored crazy man and his stick, flailing inefficiently in his sprint. Still he gained on her. He ran every night, and it could be generally assumed from her weight that Mathilde did not. Still, Mathilde was no ordinary woman. Mathilde was a witch. In her stride, she cast spells back at the crazy man but the fever from her run made her aim of a blind man's. Her curses flew threw the sky, passing threw clouds and disappearing or hitting the grass and being absorbed into the earth. But as the heavy snowman turned toward Mathilde and watched her glowing hand, a curse meant for the crazy man went straight into his heart. He felt himself shrivel and shrink, and when he opened his eyes he saw very little of the sky. His head was very close to the ground and he heard the rumble of Mathilde's fall much louder than he'd ever heard a sound before. He watched as the crazy man lifted his stick to the sky and Mathilde held her hand to her heart. As the stick descended a puff of smoke quickly surrounded Mathilde. The crazy man tumbled back, coughing mad like he was. As the smoke spread thin and transparent, one could only see the purple dress and the sweaty pearls once around her neck. Quickly, the crazy man snatched the pearls and ran off into the night.

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