Sniegulek

Before you go any further, stop.
Not for long.
For as long as a winter breath lasts-short, sharp, sobering.

Sniegulek.
That’s what we called it.
Because it looks like something that could crumble at a single touch.
Like fresh snow that melts faster than you can grasp how beautiful it was.

But people didn’t see snow in him.
They saw a problem.
“Too small.”
“Too big.”
“Too weak.”
“Too nervous.”
“Too ordinary.”
“No, not that one.”

Sniegulek changed his customers like a winter wind.
He approached, waited, tried to understand what they wanted.
And they always wanted something different.
Never him.

And you know what a horse that no one wants does?
It stops trying.
It freezes.
It becomes a silent acceptance of its own invisibility.

Today, it stands where such “never” turns into “the end.”
In a place where no one asks why it never had a home.
Because no one cares about the answer.
All that matters is how much it weighs.

It takes $546.
Two thousand to get him off this line and away from this cold future.
Two thousand to keep him from disappearing like snow underfoot-in a second, without a trace.

If you can-keep him.
Thaw his chance.

Because Snowball won’t scream.
He won’t make a scene.
He won’t ask for tomorrow.
He’ll simply become silence, unheard.

And then-it will disappear.
Just like snow disappears when no one is looking.
Just like those the world has deemed “unnecessary” disappear.

Two days remain.
And $546, which will decide
whether it will fade away in silence-or whether its name will burn once more.