This is a Friday Fictioneers foray.
Thanks to Shaktiki Sharma for the prompt.
The youths had set about Raymond with a rare vigour. His nose had been broken, his arm dislocated and his scarf left dangling on Mr Yate’s garden wall. The snowman’s lot has never been a happy one: forced into anachronistic knitwear by day and assaulted by feral youth at night.
When he’d seen one of the gang loitering alone by the bus stop, it looked like a chance for revenge. Alas, his nerves got the better of him and he froze to the spot, wishing that the puddle which was forming around him could be put down to global warming.