My breath materializes in front of me, a genie’s smoke spilling out of my mouth, and it asks, ‘what do you want?’

Across the street, a snowman’s shadow lies limp on the grass. Its carrot has slipped low on his face, the body slouched as if it is grieving.

‘What do you want?’ my breath asks again, the white billows looming over my face.

My hands are frozen, my nose is frozen, my toes are numb stumps on the end of my feet.

‘When will I become somebody?’ my brain asks the snowman as the white air falls across my eyes. The snow man’s tiny stone eyes stare at me, unblinking, watching the oscillation of my breath, before its head rolls back across its back and splits in half on the grass.