The universal mind is a metaphysical concept that claims all beings in the universe share a common consciousness. Though only speculation, it is an idea that is as fascinating as any other postulation about how our infinitely large and mysterious world truly operates. That implies everything from water to humanoid creations holds some degree of consciousness. This idea has always intrigued me, especially during winter. As I watch the snow fall and gather into piles, I can't help but wonder: if snowmen could think, what would they say? What would they feel? 

One winter, my friends and I built a snowman, and though he never spoke, I imagined his fleeting existence…

On a cold, windy day atop the hill I call home, I am brought to life by alien-looking beings, who form me from the ground up with their tiny gloved appendages. They call me Frost McBumfulsmith, a name that emerged from a flurry of suggestions. One suggested “Sir Frostington,” another championed “Captain Snowface,” but in the end, “Frost McBumfulsmith” won. I am made out of three balls of snow, a variety of rocks, a scarf around my neck, a hat on my head, and a carrot for my nose. My creators’ laughter rings through the air; though I can’t speak nor move, in their eyes, my existence is enough.

From my spot atop the hill, I see another snow creature like myself. They, too, brought joy to these fleshy beings. Their creators' smiles gleam, for their joy is our own, giving our frozen existences meaning, for we exist only because of them.

But all my joy is fleeting as I watch silently and helplessly, in snowbound terror, as they hurtle down the hill on their sleds, smashing through my kind without a second thought. Unable to move, all I can do is bear witness. 

I think I must be next. Somehow, I am spared.

As time passes, the sun leaves the sky. I remain standing. 

Yellow buses pick up and drop off my creators, who point at me and smile, proud of their creation. This happiness melts away faster than the snowflakes that built me. At first, my creators’ eyes light up at the sight of me, their joy radiant. But soon, their gazes grow shorter, their smiles thinner, until I become just a pile of structured snow that once brought them happiness. It hurts at first, but one gets used to the apathy.

The days grow warmer. Birds flutter around me, oblivious to my silent suffering. The glowing laser in the sky, that tyrant of heat and light, mercilessly burns me. My once-proud form shrinks under its relentless gaze, each droplet of water a testament to my slow decay. I constantly pray for the cold rock in the night sky to grant me refuge from the unbearable burns, even if it is only for a few hours.

Sometimes, the pain of burning becomes unbearable, and I scream, but no one can hear me. Besides, what does it matter if a lousy snowman like me is saved? My rocks, once forming my mouth, have fallen off, along with the sticks that were my arms. My head detaches, and I can see the mound that was once my body.

My creators, why won’t you look at me? Why have you abandoned me? Why must I suffer alone? Why me?

Birds come to peck, eating the carrot that was once my nose. The rocks from my middle and lower sections tumble away, yet my eyes remain intact. I tilt until my entire world turns upside down. I am ready to accept my inevitable fate.

Then, a bird pecks out one of my eyes. The darkness engulfs me.

As I melt away, a deep sorrow fills my soul. I lived to stand and stood to fall. This is truly the end. My sight, my vision, my emotions: all eternally gone.

As I lay upon what remains of my head, slowly fading, I know this is it. The sun’s return fills me with fear, yet the burning sensation ceases. The pain that once haunted me fades to peace; all is now dark. I have lived. I fulfilled my task. Now I perish.