The day was unseasonably, unforgivably warm.
As the temperature began to rise, rain drops began to fall, trickling down in rivers from the ceiling of his willow-house as it slowly melted. Under the bloated weight of wet snow, the roof sagged dangerously. It was as if the house was shrinking, deflating, collapsing And thus was how the morning awoke Kiche. After the third, well-aimed droplet managed to strike his nose, his right eye flickered open with exasperation. That was when his window and door, no longer able to support the burden of snow stacked above them promptly collapsed. Inexplicably Kiche watched the light disappear from the world before his distraught, dismayed right eye. Suddenly he was on his feet, snarling at the drooping walls of what had been his house. What he had once considered to be spacious was alarmingly cramped, far smaller than he had remembered it being the day before. A desperate whine rose out of his throat and he whirled around, unable to find an exit and somehow hoping that by defiance alone he could save his house.
Without warning, the house began to groan as the exhausted, feeble willow limbs let go of their white burden. "<b>No! No no no no!</b>" he cried, his voice rising to a shrill scream as the walls collapsed around him and the ceiling caved in. All at once he was buried in his dream, his beautiful, architectural dream. The cold folded over him. Thrashing and flailing, he fought to escape his crumbling home as snow began to fill his mouth, muffling his screams. He gargled and whined, unable to articulate his overwhelming dread. Vaguely, he was distracted by a single, inappropriate thought: <i>Why, whoever said snow was white! This snow is very clearly black!</i> Like a broken record, this thought replayed and ricocheted off the walls of his skull as he fought against the darkness and snow.
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