It was exactly after one hundred years that we had a snowfall. No one could believe his eyes.
My grandmother, who was born when town had its last snowfall, was unduly agitated.
“Close all doors and windows,” grandmother shouted.
“Snowman is on the prowl. He will take away little kids. That’s what happened when I was born. Many kids went missing. My grandmother had told me.”
Even today her wish was a command.
Windows and doors were closed; we were locked in and we lost a rare opportunity of feeling first snow of our life.
A post for Friday Fictioneers