The Snowman Attack

He was cold. I was watching. He was silent. I was breathing. He had to go...

This was it.

The day had come.

I had just woken up.

I had just walked down the stairs.

I had just passed the window.

I had just backtracked to the window.

I shifted my head.

He was there.

Smiling.

Dressed; impressively even.

My eyes narrowed.

I would not take this. Not with crusty eye corners. Not with ghastly morning breath.

Every fiber of my being screamed in itchiness.

Scratching was the only option.

***

Assessing the cold.

Close to the big 0.

Sweater on my arms. 

The awful kind. 

Gingerbread guy posted on the front. He's next.

Remaining focused.

Almost astronomic arsenal arrayed auspiciously.

Weighing of options.

Processing... processing... processi...

Bingo.

***

Mine.

1st the scarf.

Mine.

2nd the hat.

Hers.

The buttons.

And...

CHOMP

Not bad.

Also hers.

She wont know.

She wont know.

***

SLURP

Soup is good.

Soup is life.

HOT!

Blow...

Blow...

CREAK

The door is alive.

SLAM

Its angry.

STOMP STOMP STOMP

It has feet?

WHACK

And hands?

My hat rolls across the floor.

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOP

Some questions about buttons, m80 debris and a carrot?

I shrug smirking.

SLAM

Sweater on my arms. 

The awful kind. 

Gingerbread guy posted on the front.

He's next.

But first...

Soup is good.

Soup is life.

SLURP

Author's Note

Whatever you wish to say.