Murder on my mind

Old Man Winter looked at his watch for the third time in two minutes. 8:13. This was so frustrating, the letter told him to be here at exactly eight and yet no one has arrived this entire time. He would wait five more minutes and then he was gone. He was a busy man, he had lots to do. He had a very, VERY successful year so far. He wasn’t sure what it was but he felt like Young Man Winter again. He was doing more and more than ever before. He’d snow, then freezing temps and then let it warm up just enough for everything to melt before he’d freeze again and turn everything into ice. He had turned in some of the most miserable, freezing cold days of his career. This year was one for the books. It felt good to love what you do and to do it right.

But now he was standing here like a chump. Waiting for some mystery person who promised him in a letter that he would provide him with several addresses of people with pipes particularly susceptible to cold. And nothing said winter like frozen bursting pipes. It could be like his signature on this work of art that was winter 2014. But now it was 8:17 and no one had arrived. This was turning out to be a colossal waste of time. He would just go.

But as he turned to leave, Old Man Winter heard a rustling from behind. He turned towards the noise when suddenly there was a loud cracking noise and he felt a pinch of pain in his stomach. “I am really sick of you”, a voice muttered from the darkness. Old Man Winter placed his hand on the burning sensation on his stomach and when he pulled it away it was a bright red. In fact there was a lot of red everywhere and it was very easy to see, it just popped against his unusually white, wintery skin. He fell to his knees.

“Why couldn’t you just go easy on us”, the voice said as it stepped from the shadows. It was a man, with glasses near his thirties. “We can take a little but you pushed us too far. You put yourself in this position”, the man said. He fired two more shots from the gun he was holding and Old Man Winter felt two more sharp pinches in his gut.

“Did you like it”, the man asked, “Did you like making it -40 degrees? Was it fun to dump snow on us and then make us walk in it to work EVERY DAY!” The man grabbed Old Man Winter and pulled him close, “Why did you do it?”

Old Man Winter spit some blood onto the ground so he could speak, “because… because I hate you humans. And this changes nothing. I’ll be back next year. I always come back.” Old Man Winter coughed up some more blood as the man pushed him to the ground. The man looked anxious. Apparently what Old Man Winter said had worked, it had the man flustered. So in his final breath Old Man Winter would finish him off.

“You want to escape me? There is no escaping me. I am Chicago. I am New York. I am every where you go. I own this country and unless you want to pay… unless you want pay to live in California, you’re going to have to deal with me… every year.”

Old Man Winter collapsed and was gone. The man stared down at him and thought about what he said. He was right; killing Old Man Winter would only prolong the inevitable. If you’re to truly escape, you need to do more than that. But man, did it feel good to put a bullet in that guy. Old Man Winter was being a real dick this year.

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