Gene Frost

My name is Jean.  Everyone likes me, the person who is there for you no matter what.  Trustworthy beyond compare.  A hug from me and your miseries will just melt away, well for a moment at least.

“Come here sweetie, let me wipe away those tears. He isn’t worth it, he really isn’t. You can do so much better.  Do you want a hug?”

You raise your arms.  I step forward and squeeze.

“Oh what a pretty pair of earrings you have on there. You are a lucky thing.”

I squeeze again; a little harder for a little longer.  You go cold in my arms.   Frozen in time.  My time.

I step back and admire my work.  A tear drop is hanging off your cheek awaiting its fate.  Your arms suspended in the air waiting patiently for me to return.

“Do you want to stay this way, I can make it so?  No.  No, I can’t.  I must move quickly, the others can’t see you in this frosty state.”

I reach for your jewels and whisper in your ear “You don’t need this bling, you have plenty.  There are others who are more in need.  The homeless.  The hungry.  Me.”

When I have what I want I give you a final big squeeze.  Your body comes back to life, all warm and comforted.

“Now didn’t I tell you a hug would make you feel better?”  You nod and smile; they always do.

They say I’m too generous.  I say “It’s nothing.  Doesn’t cost me a thing.”

They say I have a magic touch.  I wink at them as I say “It’s in my genes.”


274 Words


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