Chris stares at the treacherous sky, umbrella at the ready. He knows all too well that spring in Chicago is deceptive. Sometimes those dark rain clouds hold nothing at all, and sometimes dewy showers drip down on a sunny day. Though he has spent years cultivating a tough persona, this sugar-spun man knows he must remain cautious. His life depends on it.
He was originally made for a kid in a candy shop—a young woman, really. Her father was an old-fashioned guy who made all his sweets by hand. His daughter was plain; years of constant sugar consumption had done nothing for her looks. But her father loved her, and he didn’t want her to be alone, so he created a companion for her: a candied Frankenstein’s monster. The girl took to Chris right away—she named him that, after one of the celebrities whose pictures she had tacked up on her bedroom wall. Every day she kissed his fondant lips and called him sweetheart.
I can't believe I've never used the name Chris before. I'm a little worried; I feel like I've written a really similar story before, about a candy-man melting. Or maybe someone I know did? Leta? Maybe it's just a weird feeling. But if I did accidentally sort of steal your story idea, sorry! I didn't mean to.