The Snowman

The pale light of the street lamps dissipated in the night, creating mysterious shadows, like ghosts floating through the empty streets of a sleeping city. Everything was silent and motionless, as if waiting for something inevitable. Melting, he stood at the very road where the past winter had left him as a mute witness to his cold dominance. Initially, it was created by children with joy and inspiration, but now, under the burning gaze of spring, it was melting slowly and helplessly. His coal-black eyes, once full of joy and hope, now seemed empty and lifeless. The winds, gathering strength, dragged through the narrow streets, and the snowman felt his body melting, his vital energy going nowhere. He tried to hold on to his arms and legs, but he was melting, as if under the flames of an inexorable sun. Cold drops of water rolled off his body, leaving traces like tears of remorse. From afar, footsteps could be heard approaching slowly, and the melting snowman felt the hope of salvation... The snowman realized that for the world around him he had become simply useless, having no value, which he was for this world. His fate was sealed in a moment of melting, and no one was going to change it. With every second he melted faster, his eyes went out, and soon only a pile of wet snow reminded of his existence. So ended this story, swept by the insensitive flow of time and the spring elements. He was a brief metaphor for life, which also melted away forever, leaving only traces in the memory of those who once created it.