The Red Snowman Chapter 1

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The Red Snowman didn't know how it was born, how it came to be. It slowly became aware of its existence over time.

At first, it felt its cold, ever-melting body. It quickly realized that it is as cold as the void that encompasses its body.

The next thing it became aware of, was its eyes. A pair of two deep-blue, solid and oval objects, like smooth gemstones, with cyan, sparkling pupils in the shape of snowflakes. What was their purpose, though? All the snowman could see was infinite blackness.

The Red Snowman also had a mouth, but it neither uttered a voice nor produced a howl. The snowman knew the visual meaning of words and what would they be like, but the snowman couldn't give them a vocal sense. As for the other sounds, the snowman found them to have no purpose.

What would be the reason to produce noise?

The snowman didn't know.

The snowman didn't try.

The Snowman turned its head slowly, looking around. It didn't know why, perhaps it simply wanted to learn of its whereabouts.

Nothing. Just darkness.

It was cold. Very cold. The snowman was pretty confident that it was as cold as cold things can get.

Uncomfortable.

Shivering.

It felt like the Red Snowman recalled something, which was likely untrue, even If the situation happened before.

Its situation wouldn't change, would it?

No, it, wouldn't.

It could only try to go to sleep, to freeze itself to sleep. Freeze its thoughts, freeze its feelings, freeze whatever was responsible for its state of existence.

How many days have passed? The Red Snowman didn't know. It was aware the whole time, enduring, in a state of a conscious hibernation.

Then it realized. The cold was no more. It has gradually passed. The Red Snowman was so absorbed in enduring, that it didn't notice.

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The Red Snowman slowly opened its eyes. All around, was now white. Warm white. The air, the surroundings, tasted like sweet milk.

But it wasn't just that.

There was something new on top of his head. An item weaved out of rough, dry stripes of unknown fabric.

The snowman knew no word for its feeling – that is, it couldn't think of anything, speak of anything or comprehend anything.

The world around the snowman made no sense.

Then, the snowman felt the tip of something soft and warm on its back. It traced, or rather engraved, symbols in its body.

It didn't hurt, but it was scary. The integrity of the form, of the entity. It was being violated.

Then the snowman heard the words.

"In seven days, I allow you to walk."

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