Popsicle Man

The little man was made of wooden Popsicle sticks, held together with bulbous masses of glue and red yarn. His face was carved and painted like a totem mask. As he paced around Julia's tiny Ikea kitchen table his little Popsicle legs bent without quite breaking. He carried a spear that reminded her of a cocktail toothpick.

His voice was deep yet grave, "Our battle fares badly in the Realm beyond your freezer. The Frost Queen's snipers plague us at every turn."

Julia found she had grown surprisingly accustomed to these visits from Aladon (as the little man was known to his people). She set her purse and keys on the counter and pulled up a chair to the table. She sighed heavily, "Well you can take as many of my ice cubes as you need... it's really not a big deal. I promise."

He bowed deeply, "Our people will regale our children with tales of your generosity! With these precious ice diamonds, we can build invincible fortresses and secure our position in the Blasted Plains of Caladir and finally establish stable trade routes with the Green Army."

"You're ... welcome." Julia wondered how many other peoples' freezers were secretly portals to other worlds and how many missing minor objects ended up being pivotal weapons in unending wars between good and evil.

Aladon looked at her thoughtfully. "It has been five suns since we last spoke and your Freezer is full of Hot Pockets and Cheesecake Ice cream," his carved eyes blinking in an uncannily lifelike manner, "What has happened to the man-friend, Rodger?"

Julia shook her head, "He um... hasn't called me back."

"By my yarn!!!"  He exclaimed, holding the toothpick spear aloft, "You have but to say the word and he shall be no more than splinters."

"No," she said quietly.

Sometimes, she thought as she got up to pour herself a glass of chardonnay, it was just nice to have someone to listen.