Disclaimer: The characters found within this short but enlightening narrative are not of my own invention. They belong to George Orwell as does the story which I have altered just a little bit for literary purposes.
"Snowflakes in January"
by Holly Stevens
Snowball watched bitterly as his former comrades of Animal Farm admired their newly constructed windmill for the umpteenth time. It sickened him to watch Napoleon strut around the windmill, as he bragged loudly about how intelligent he was for formulating the idea. He was suddenly filled with a deep sense of hatred and a need for revenge. Vengeance was something he would never be able to obtain. He had weakened the first windmill before the storm had struck it down violently, but alas, they had conquered that road block by building one or Snowball. They had completed yet another windmill.
It was January now and a light powdering of fresh snow littered the ground. He scooped up a small amount of snow with his hooves and began shaping a snowball the way he had once seen a human child do at one point in time during his life. He cocked back his arm and threw the snowball with all of his might. It hit the windmill and then shattered to pieces to the floor below.
Mr. Jones had unknowingly given him a most appropriate name, for he was very much like a snowball. A simple ball of snow seemed like a very formidable opponent in the arms of an enemy until it was thrown. Then it was nothing but a few snowflakes in January. It would be gone and forgotten by the next day.
His campaign against Napoleon had been very much the same. He had indeed been a worthy adversary until Napoleon had used his watch dogs to ruthlessly throw him out of the farm. His regime had collapsed into oblivion. Now, Snowball was merely a forgotten snowflake.
"Better a snowflake in January than a rotten apple like Napoleon!" he shouted.
And with those closing remarks, he turned around and trotted off, leaving a fresh row of tracks in the snow.