Write a 20-word (exactly) story in which a human falls in love with a snowman, or a snowman falls in love with a human.
Title: Not even the sun can come between us.
Your wet scarf now chills my neck. The last of you drips down my chest; I hope it never dries.
The Warmth of Your Touch
They told me, “Hands that build can also tear down.” That didn't matter to me. I loved you anyway.
Her First Snowman
His button eyes, her buttonless sweater. Sitting in Mom's car, she cried for her snowman, alone in the cold darkness.
This is actually CNF, my 2 year old daughter, 1988. We were eating dinner out, but she was bawling for Frosty.
Lovely!
Cuffing Season
If your young’un shows telltale frostbitten lips of snowman canoodling, don’t fret, the affair surely will be over by springtime.
Title: A safe love story
She practiced safe love by kissing the same snowman with button eyes every year until the sun came out.
Title: He was packing snow
Button it, Sis! No "the sun is shining". Get me—sob—a tissue. Drip. I know: what'd I expect? Sob.
DIARY OF A VICTORIAN SNOWMAN
Cold no more. She stumbled from the pub, and didn't see me. I broke her fall. She ate my carrot.
“The love of creation for its maker”
He gazed at his creator, adoration burning through eyes of coal, yearning to feel the touch of her gloved hands.
Just Before Spring Thaw
She saw his carrot nose was pointing toward someone else, but still she clung on, smothering him until he disappeared.
Mr Right Is A Cold Sonofabitch
He’s happy, his button eyes bright, stick arms extended. I tell him my secrets. Then the damn sun melts him.
Snow Blind
He lost his eyes to sunshine; his smile to chipmunk cheeks. A rabbit stole his nose. Expressionless, I loved him.
My Grateful Heart
Although, I’m a man made of snow, I cherish you. My heart is melting because you have given me warmth.
Is It Casual Now?
I pour your pina colada all over my chest; feeling your tongue is worth dying for.
An Archetype of a Yuki-onna (“Snowwoman”), more like
At an iota of eros, Y. would ‘drip’ drip! A disillusioned rarity – conscious of the distinction betw. Love ‘n libido.
It's the journey that counts when you're in love with a snow woman on a red seat on a rail platform
Her orange ticket meant I could warm her on the train. My heart, her body, melted. A carrot for tea.
Man in the Snow
Body. Head. Coal-eyes. Carrot-nose. Big as her. Still and steadfast. She'd made him up. Just like all of the others.
Title: Not even the sun can come between us.
Your wet scarf now chills my neck. The last of you drips down my chest; I hope it never dries.
The Warmth of Your Touch
They told me, “Hands that build can also tear down.” That didn't matter to me. I loved you anyway.
Her First Snowman
His button eyes, her buttonless sweater. Sitting in Mom's car, she cried for her snowman, alone in the cold darkness.
This is actually CNF, my 2 year old daughter, 1988. We were eating dinner out, but she was bawling for Frosty.
Lovely!
Cuffing Season
If your young’un shows telltale frostbitten lips of snowman canoodling, don’t fret, the affair surely will be over by springtime.
Title: A safe love story
She practiced safe love by kissing the same snowman with button eyes every year until the sun came out.
Title: He was packing snow
Button it, Sis! No "the sun is shining". Get me—sob—a tissue. Drip. I know: what'd I expect? Sob.
DIARY OF A VICTORIAN SNOWMAN
Cold no more. She stumbled from the pub, and didn't see me. I broke her fall. She ate my carrot.
“The love of creation for its maker”
He gazed at his creator, adoration burning through eyes of coal, yearning to feel the touch of her gloved hands.
Just Before Spring Thaw
She saw his carrot nose was pointing toward someone else, but still she clung on, smothering him until he disappeared.
Mr Right Is A Cold Sonofabitch
He’s happy, his button eyes bright, stick arms extended. I tell him my secrets. Then the damn sun melts him.
Snow Blind
He lost his eyes to sunshine; his smile to chipmunk cheeks. A rabbit stole his nose. Expressionless, I loved him.
My Grateful Heart
Although, I’m a man made of snow, I cherish you. My heart is melting because you have given me warmth.
Is It Casual Now?
I pour your pina colada all over my chest; feeling your tongue is worth dying for.
An Archetype of a Yuki-onna (“Snowwoman”), more like
At an iota of eros, Y. would ‘drip’ drip! A disillusioned rarity – conscious of the distinction betw. Love ‘n libido.
It's the journey that counts when you're in love with a snow woman on a red seat on a rail platform
Her orange ticket meant I could warm her on the train. My heart, her body, melted. A carrot for tea.
Man in the Snow
Body. Head. Coal-eyes. Carrot-nose. Big as her. Still and steadfast. She'd made him up. Just like all of the others.