- Mood:
Shame - Listening to: Inane banter
- Reading: My words
The dawn broke over the mid-western skies on that cold Christmas morning; a lovely, serene blue that made the ocean jealous over its hue. Normally, this type of daybreak would attract many early-risers who would fawn over the clarity and the peacefulness of the moment. However, since this wasn't just any morning, but instead Christmas morning, everyone was focused on sleep or presents. The sole person watching the event was a little boy, an intelligent, curious, hyperactive child who's heart was normally filled with wonder. This particular Christmas, however, his eyes were welling with tears as he gazed out the window, questioning his very existence. For he had not seen Santa, and he had made every effort to keep his weary little eyes open and keep his fair brown hair from touching his pillow. Instead of Santa Claus, he saw a deserted fireplace, a dying Christmas tree that had been chopped down and stuck inside two weeks too soon, a noticeable lack of presents under said tree, and his innocence curled up by the mantle, clutching its chest and whimpering; a death come too soon.
His mother looked at him, their tear-stained cheeks ruddy with the suffocating cold and their emotions bringing blood to the surface. As she reached her arms around him to comfort and console him, she couldn't help but stifle her own choking sobs. Her best efforts this year had failed them. She was unable to procure anything for her son, but instead had spent the money on alcohol and broken solace. She sought company in the arms of her many nameless lovers, but found that they were as ephemeral as the hopes and dreams of her oldest son. The words of the last man to break her heart and ravage her femininity; "Fuck Christmas. It ain't nothin' but a holiday built around lies and disappointment."
Lies and disappointment. Lies. Disappointment. There was no Santa, no reindeer, no magic, no hope. All he wanted was a teddy bear, something to cuddle with on those long cold nights when his mother was out finding their next meal. Was that really too much to ask? A teddy bear was unattainable? The tears flooded the boy's gaunt face as he saw his friends begin to exit their homes with the more rugged toys of their Christmas haul. One had a complete foam baseball set, with a ball, a bat, and four bases. Another had a sled, and was gathering the others to help her start her journey from the top of her ice-covered, hilly yard to its inevitable conclusion. They were smiling, laughing, happy and healthy. He turned from the window, into the gaze of his mother. Her heart felt like it was snapping as her son whimpered; the combination of broken dreams and malnutrition was killing him right before her eyes.
The mother returned to her room and began to pack her suitcase again, vowing this time to find a way out of this mess in which they were immersed. The son followed, knowing his mom would be gone for days at a time, and would probably come back drunk and poor. His eyes were running dry as he ran to his mom and gave her the biggest hug his weak little body could muster.
"Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you."
A faint hint of a smile traced the corners of her lips as she bent over and kissed him on the head.
"I love you too, sweetheart. I'll be back soon, and then we can eat."
Days passed, the sun rose and set, and the children grew tired of their toys. His mom never came back. Lies and disappointment.
24
Tired
