By Aaron Suranofsky
Boldly striding into the snow, swallowed up to her ears protruding like two curly radar dishes, snow exploding in clouds as like a plush black bear, she bounds above the surface, two eyes locked on something they cannot see softly swaddled in the sheet set just for her. Sharp snorts of snow echo something softly squeaking like with her stuffed duck she’s already training, plowing her little muscles through the weightless snow to catch her little toy who squeals a sound so satisfying as its twisting grey body is flung to the light, only to disappear into a crimson imprint and reappear again in a rave of crystal confetti over and over again, until the sweet squeaking suddenly cuts off, as she lays in the bed she beat for herself with a mole crushed and dead hanging from her jaws.
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Also by Aaron Suranofsky: Ripples, Simply Kitty