The boy supposed he now got the phrase “biting cold.” At first he thought it was something his Grandfather and the old people spoke long ago. Sorta like “cool cats club” or some other odd terminology.

“C’mon Ethan!” the boys older brother called.

Ethan stared at him as he pushed forwards. The older brothers footprints were so much bigger than the little boys, if one could even call Ethan’s, “footprints,” at all. One look at his and one would conclude they derived from a little, struggling animal, unable to hop through the snow. But no one could blame the little boy, for these flakes nearly came up to his waste.

It wasn’t as though he was trying to fall behind. His small legs were submerged in icy cold snow the second he took another strained step. If only there were such things as wishes. Ethan’s would be to grow a little more. Not too much, but just so he could walk through snow with a bit more ease.

Mother had bundled him up as best she could, but even the shirt, two jackets, the large coat on top, his gloves, his two pairs of socks, and the snow pants he wore did little to block the “biting cold.” Oh, and also the hat and earmuffs.

“Billie, I can’t!” Ethan whined as loud he could. His voice was as small as him, but at least it got him things when he wanted them. At least he was cute. Point is, as one could imagine, it came to his advantage—“no” was a rare word usually never directed his way.

The frost nipped at his small nose and his chubby cheeks. Both were pink and almost numb.

He stopped walking. The taller figure of his older brother continued onward. Ethan would not stand for this injustice. He threw his arms to his side then pounded the snow with his fists. “Billie!” he pouted, drawing the name out for dramatic effect.

Finally the brother turned and walked towards him. “I told you couldn’t come if you weren’t gunna keep up,” Billie said. Ethan stared angrily up at him with fake tears threatening to spill over at any given moment. His tiny hands were held into even smaller fists.

Ethan’s older brother scoffed and snickered. “You look like a walking, bedazzled _dumpling_ with all that extra stuff.” He motioned to the multiple jackets of striped blue and reds and the hat patterned with penguins.

The little boy pursed his lips and growled with what he hoped was a menacing expression. Obviously it wasn’t good enough.

“—an _angry_ little dumpling,” Billie corrected. “C’mere you little fart.” He reached down and picked Ethan from the snow, walking onward once more.

Ethan glared at his brother as hard as possible, but Billie never looked down at him. One day he would teach his big brother a well deserved lesson about ever having called him “little” and “fart.” He was one to talk. His brown hair looked like Bae Bae’s excrements after eating a bad piece of chunky wet cheese, and who would want their hair to ever resemble a chihuahua’s diarrhea?

“Ethan, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to drop you,” said his brother out of nowhere.

“No!” the boy argued.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“_No.” _Ethan picked up his arm and hit Billie on the chest of his thin jacket. He knew it was a bad move, but vengeance is best served cold, as his Father would say, and now was the perfect time to hand it out.

“That’s it.” Billie stopped walking to drop Ethan into the deep snow below. He immediately sunk down the moment he hit the little shavings of ice.

“_Billie_!” he screamed and it was then that he let his counterfeit tears drop, although he imagined they were a bit more real now.

The taller boy looming over him, snorted and sighed. His dumb blue eyes were mocking. Ethan always thought they looked like a slushy before some one could get to drinking it—disgusting and disappointing. The type of thing that would make you cry, and _not_ in a good way. But then again, nor was he very clever with insults.

“You spend too much time with Mom,” Billie said. Then he reached down and helped the little brother back to his feet. But the second he was righted he started to try and run away from his brother. Billie tossed a snowball at the back of his head, and Ethan fell face first into the snow.

Ethan screamed and cried while his brother laughed and pointed.

“_Billie. Bob. Boiler_—!” Suddenly the two boys mother called through the window just inside their house.

“Oh _shit.” _Billie swore and ran to Ethan, righting him back on his feet with one, swift motion and a “Get up. Get up. Get up.”

“YOU _BUTT_ HEAD!” Ethan roared, and tripped through the snow, back to their house. “_Mommyyyy_!”