Mr. Snowman's Dream

It was Christmas Eve. Sarah, a quiet and kind girl with sunshine-yellow hair and sky-blue eyes, strolled along the snow-dusted streets, bundled in her favorite red jacket and new boots—a gift from her dad. She spotted her friends heading up the mountain, their laughter echoing in the crisp air, and decided to join them.

Sarah reveled in the joy of playing in the soft, powdery snow with her friends. As they tumbled and laughed, a faint, melodic chime drifted through the air. Sarah paused, listening intently. She glanced around, but only her friends were there, their rosy cheeks bright against the white landscape. Shrugging it off, she rejoined their games, the sound of the chime fading into the background noise of their merriment.

As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of lavender and rose, a biting wind whipped through the mountain, urging Sarah and her friends to head home. Suddenly, a particularly strong gust snatched Sarah's favorite scarf, a vibrant knit of blues and greens, and sent it swirling away. "My scarf!" she cried, chasing after it as it danced on the wind. She ran so quickly, her boots barely touching the ground, that she lost sight of her friends and the path. Tripping on an unseen root, she tumbled down a small embankment.

Fear prickled Sarah's skin. The darkness was thick and silent, the only sound her own quick breaths. "Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. "Is anyone there?"

"Are you alright, little one?" a gentle voice inquired.

Sarah froze, her heart pounding like a drum. A shadow moved in the dim light. "Don't come any closer!" she stammered, shrinking back.

"Don't be afraid, little one," the voice reassured her.

Slowly, Sarah dared to look up. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Standing before her was a living snowman! He was tall and round, with coal eyes that twinkled kindly and a carrot nose that pointed jauntily upwards.

"Wh-what's your name?" the snowman asked.

"S-Sarah," she whispered, still slightly awestruck.

"Here, let me help you up," the snowman offered, extending a snow-covered arm. He helped Sarah to her feet and brushed the snow off her jacket. They sat together for a while, talking and laughing. Sarah felt safe and warm in the snowman's company. She learned his name was Snowman. But as the moon climbed higher in the sky, Sarah realized it was getting late. "I have to go now, Mr. Snowman," she said, waving goodbye.

The next morning, Sarah raced back up the mountain, eager to see her new friend. They spent the day together, sharing stories and playing games. This became their daily ritual. As the days grew shorter and the air colder, their friendship deepened.

One afternoon, as snowflakes swirled around them, Snowman turned to Sarah. "Sarah," he asked, his voice soft, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mr. Snowman," she replied.

"What is your dream?" he inquired.

Sarah smiled. "My dream," she said, "is to make my mom and dad proud of me."

"And what is your dream, Mr. Snowman?" Sarah asked.

The question seemed to surprise him. No one had ever asked him about his dreams. He paused, gazing at the snow-covered ground. "My dream," he finally said, a wistful smile gracing his face, "is to see the summer and enjoy it."

Sarah's heart sank. She knew that dream was impossible. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized the inevitable.

The next morning, Sarah woke to the sound of rain. Looking out her window, she saw the snow melting, trickling down the glass like tears. A wave of sadness washed over her. She knew what this meant.

She rushed to the mountain, her heart heavy with grief. Where the snowman once stood, there was nothing but a damp patch of earth. Nearby, she spotted her scarf, the vibrant colors now muted with dampness. She picked it up, clutching it tightly to her chest. "You didn't have to leave because of your incomplete dream, Mr. Snowman," she whispered, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. The scarf, a tangible reminder of their fleeting friendship, was all she had left.