The Snowman of the Forest

Happy birthday, Leslie! In honor of your birthday, I'm going to remind you of your glory days.

At least, I sure thought they were your glory days while we were in them. Back then, during the late 90s and early 2000s, I would get into WordPerfect and hunt around to see if any intriguing new file names had appeared. If so, I would open them and read them, geeking out about how good the stories were.

Yep -- Leslie wrote stories. Awesome ones. About fairies and princesses and French girls living in mysterious houses in Britain. And there were always orphans. Lots of orphans.

Unfortunately, most of these tales didn't make it onto my laptop. I could only find this one and one called "annelida" which turned out to be part of your taxonomy assignment in AP Bio. I had hoped it was about a princess named Annelida, but no. It was about worms.

So without further ado, I give you the first bit of "The Snowman of the Forest." Better get some tissues ready.

The Snowman of  the Forest

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a very little  girl.  She was very happy, for she had a mother and a father and a big beautiful house.  She also had a kitten, a puppy, and a beautiful doll.  Then, one day, something devastating happened to this little girl.  Her parents were on the way to a party when a squirrel darted across the road; the little girl’s prized horses went hysterical.  They tossed the sleigh off the road and as the little girl watched, her parents were thrown into a pile of rocks.  That was the last she saw of her parents, living.

She lived in the middle of a forest and poor Angelica--for this was her name--had no way to get to town on a night like this, for the wind had begun blowing the snow in all directions, and she couldn't see ten feet out of the big bay window.  She decided to try the telephone, to no avail.  For two hours, every fifteen minutes, she tried the telephone, but the lines were out and it would take a long time before the storm stopped.   She eventually fell asleep on the sofa.

The next morning was bright and clear.  Angelica felt refreshed and started upstairs to wake her parents.  Then she remembered.  She dared not look outside, in case to see some remainder of her beloved mother and father.  She put together a breakfast that only a five-year-old could manage, then tried  the telephone again.  It was working, thankfully, so she dialed 911.  She gave the details, and soon the officers were there at the scene of the accident, and they pressed Angelica for more details.  Then they left, leaving her with no encouragement, no sympathy, no nothing.  She cried.

Angelica lived the day through, making small meals for herself throughout the day, and doing the work of an adult.  She felt very much alone, and only her doll gave her comfort.  Oh, her doll, the porcelain dark-haired little beauty.  It would help her  fight  bears and beasts.  Her little Sylvia could do anything.  Anything, that is, but bring Angelica's parents back.

Angelica was very upset for a few days, but she began to recover.  She made her own meals, not very good ones, but even  the food storage she had provided delicious results.  She was getting along fine.  She still missed her parents terribly, and perhaps if she had an older sibling . . . ah, well, those things were past.  Even a little baby would have been helpful to lighten up her life, like the one her mother was going to have in approximately two weeks, but she would never have  someone else in her family to play with.  Never again.

Angelica managed to live for about a month, but a horrible mistake made her leave almost everything behind.  One night, feeling a bit strange, she packed a suitcase of clothes, shut the door to her large bedroom, with her kitten and puppy, and snuggled into bed holding Sylvia tight.  She awoke later, having been awakened by an odd  smell.  She stumbled out of bed and walked toward the door.  She began to turn the doorknob, but as she put a hand on the door to steady herself, she jumped back.  It was burning hot!  She grabbed her suitcase, set Sylvia inside, and opened her window.  She shivered in the cold night air, and jumped down.  Her pets gladly followed her as her room filled with smoke.  She stood way back, and watched as her lovely lace curtains caught fire.  Angelica had to cry.  She was now alone in the forest, with no one to care for her, and no food.  On a sudden impulse, she ran toward the storage room where the food was kept.  The fire had not reached it yet, so she grabbed what she could and threw it outside.  Angelica repeated this again and again  until there were only a few bottles left.  Angelica saw the first flames licking through the door.  She ran outside and watched as the foundation collapsed, and her house fell in sparks and smoke.  Angelica started crying once again.  She was  an orphan in the wilderness.  And when one is just half of ten, they don't have much chance of living.

Angelica was desperate.  She had to find a warm place fast.  If she didn't, she would not live the night through.  She wandered through the forest, wearing her fur coat, when she felt a sudden warmth.  There was something living near by.  She had come upon a thicket of deer, numbering about twenty.  She laid down on top of one small deer, then fell asleep.

The next morning, Angelica awoke to something wet and warm rubbing against her cheek.  She opened her eyes and saw two soft brown eyes staring quizzically at her.  She sat up.  Deer all around her were waking up and finding an imposter in their family of animals.  Angelica hoped they would not be angry with her, that they would let her be with them until she could get back on her feet.  Fortunately, the deer seemed to like her, and nudged her and nibbled on her hand.  She was glad for some comfort in the world.

Angelica's clothes soon grew too small, so she took a needle from the sewing kit her mother had given her, and a thread, and sewed a few leaves together in the form of a skirt.  It wasn't very warm, but it would do for the moment as she let down the hems and loosened the sleeves of her dresses.  She fingered her long blonde hair, one of the things left to her by her mother.  She felt her chin, the chin that received compliments on how it looked like her father’s.  For the first time in almost three months, Angelica cried.


And the story goes on, she lives and drinks some hot cocoa some nice people left. And then 6 years later they came back and discovered her and then just when it was getting good, it ended mid-sentence. Seriously.

Anyway, so, it has a few issues, but not too bad of writing for an 11-year-old! I was going to say that this was unrealistic because how could a 5-year-old act so grown-up, but then I remembered that Leslie was just as precocious as Angelica.

So, if you ever want to quit your day job, you should go finish this story. Also the one about Irma/Madelin. I liked that one a lot.