By Tom Hadrava
They come through the rift every frost-day, pillaging and plundering. Soon, the tree with glass balls gapes empty, stalks ripped away. Candy roots dug out.
Several youngsters wander close to my ice-house.
“Check him out. Cold bastard!”
Let them take whatever they need for their horrible celebrations, but leave afterwards.
“Move, guys! Still need some glitter.”
They start to leave. All but one. My cold heart jumps. A female approaches me with a flirty grin.
“Watch this, guys…”
I gasp with horror.
Humans. Heat.
She grabs me by the neck and kisses me, searing my lips and melting me into oblivion.
Reading this is like doing a whirling dervish dance. Or something like that. Great stuff!