A single snowflake lays in a field. Alone he waits for death and somehow contemplates the irony of it all. Who the hell ever heard of a single snow flake falling?
He thanks his maker still that he fell facing up. It would have been a shame to slowly melt away his life facing down towards the ground, possibly watching his life passing forth life to another. Lucky blade of grass. Who the hell made you so genetically superior that you reap the benefit of my death?
But instead of wasting his single tear on despair, he swallows emotion for the moment the way a frozen heart only can. He looks to the sky to where he assumes his maker is. For had he not fallen from the sky? Whichever brightly shining bulb of light had conjured him, even for what is more and more feeling like only mere minutes, he still gives thanks. And as he feels his heart begin to evaporate he starts to find peace in his melting life.