Slushy Snowman's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Slushy Snowman lost a whole finger before breakfast. He had shaped it from packed snow, proud and round, but the moment a crow stole his carrot nose, his temper flared. Heat rose off his body in thin waves. His snow softened. His finger dripped into slush and slid off his hand. Every burst of anger did this to him. The angrier he got, the faster he melted. And he had no cool, shaded place to run to when the heat came. He stood in the open, fists clenched, watching the crow fly off. "Come back!" he shouted. More heat. More dripping. His shoulder sagged and slumped. A girl in a pink snowsuit crunched across the snow toward him. Stacey. She lived nearby and often watched him from her window. She had seen him melt before. Her fur-lined hood framed a worried face. "Stop yelling," she said. "You're doing it again. Look at your arm." Slushy looked. His left arm had thinned to a wet stick. "I can't help it. That bird took my nose." "Getting mad won't bring it back," Stacey said. "It just melts you." She grabbed his cold, drippy hand. "Come with me." She pulled him across the yard toward a small wooden house. Snow crowned its roof. Frost veiled its windows. She led him around to the shaded side, where the roof's overhang blocked the sun. The air there felt sharper and colder. "Sit," Stacey said. She pressed him down against the frosted wall. "Feel that? The wall is cold. The shade keeps the sun off you." Slushy leaned back. The cold seeped into his soft snow. His dripping slowed. His melting arm stopped sliding. He felt himself firm up, bit by bit. "When you get mad, come here," Stacey said. She sat beside him in the snow. "This is your cool spot now. The bird doesn't matter. Your body matters." Slushy stared at his arm. It had stopped shrinking. "It's working," he said quietly. "I stopped melting." "Because you stopped yelling and you got in the shade," Stacey said. She smiled. "Both things." Slushy pressed his firm hand flat against the cold wall. For the first time all morning, he did not feel like a puddle. He had a place to go now. A shaded, freezing corner that held him together when his temper flared. But then he noticed something. He looked up at the overhang. Water dripped from the melting snow on the roof, straight down onto the ground beside him. The sun was climbing higher. By afternoon, the shade on this wall would shrink. The cold corner would warm. His new safe spot would only last until midday. "Stacey," he said slowly. "What happens when the sun moves?" Stacey looked up at the dripping roof. Her smile faded. Neither of them had an answer.