The Snow Child

Jill Hunny

The snow child stood just behind his parents, they stood in the cold, barely dressed. The child wearing a scarf could just make out his mother’s rouged cheeks. His father’s long scratchy arms were misshapen and unwelcoming.

They had plenty of visitors, his mother with her fancy hat and well-shaped arms folding into herself tended to get all the attention. The snow child seemed out of the way and no remarkable features to attract any attention a child might want, he stood there, patiently waiting, for what he was not sure, but standing seemed easy.

His father stood there, seemingly dressed in only his cold demeanor, as his mother drew the attention of the crowds, the fathers stature became more overbearing, the background more welcoming.

Eventually a large man with a big gold chain stepped forward and positioned a big rosette on mother’s ample chest and those gathered around applauded. The child nervous looked towards his farther fearing what might happen. The crowds in time, lessened, occasionally glancing back at them, lingering on mother and then were no more and still they waited, the three of them.

The snow child must have drifted off. His parents had obviously not been getting on. Their remnants strewn in front of him, his mother’s beautiful hat and rosette lay on the floor, his father’s tunic buttons on the other side, large puddles of water all around. He knew he would not be here for much longer, his father’s scratchy arms, more evidence of melting snowmen.


To submit your own story Email Marc at MarcLewis@Mindtws.org.uk

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