A literary Christmas gift to you all... as requested for theme of this month: a dark Christmas story. Enjoy, lovelies.
This song is the accompaniment (and inspiration) for this story:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vNcGlM8O3I
I
Hark how the bells
Sweet silver bells
All seem to say
Throw cares away
She stands outside the supercenter. She was walking but now she stops and stares. She has to stop to collect herself. Her thoughts are swirling like the snow that is forecasted to start tonight. This Christmas Eve.
She is waiting for the snow to fall. To cover the past and make things new. To make the world beautiful, if just for a little while.
She closes her eyes.
She tries to forget. It’s not working. Her uncle, the man her aunt married a few months ago, occupies her thoughts. His slurred words. His suggestive eyebrows. And wandering hands.
She had arrived at her aunt’s house early. No other family were there yet. But he was there. Her aunt was cooking in the kitchen. They were in the living room.
She shuts her eyes tighter. Tears squeeze out.
She left in a rush. She was a blur of half-formed excuses and terror.
She drove to the only safe place she could think of on this night, one full of rushing crowds. Busyness to distract. Masses to protect. She is standing outside of Walmart.
Christmas is here
People rush in to get last minute gifts. Pick up the soda they forgot. Get the ice before heading to the party.
She doesn’t need anything. Nothing she can purchase here.
People honk. Flip on turn signals to call an open parking spot. Curse when that asshole steals it.
Bringing good cheer
So she stands on the median. Right on the curb. Behind her, the scraggly stick of a tree that is left from winter is covered in blinking lights. Her foot hovers over the asphalt as she opens her eyes and begins to take a step forward. She notices the bellringer stop ringing and she sees it all happen before her.
To young and old
Meek and the bold.
II
One seems to hear
Words of good cheer
From everywhere
Filling the air
He walks out of Walmart. His steps are heavy. Even in their Prada shoes.
Ding dong, ding dong
He sees the bellringer making his insistent plea for donations. He would give. He has stuffed bills in before. Last Christmas. Even last week.
But tonight he can’t. Tonight, the night he should be most generous. The night he would give the nice man who tirelessly rings that bell in the freezing dark of Christmas Eve a $20.
Tonight he doesn’t have a $20. Tonight he doesn’t have $1.
He spent his last dollars on the ice bags in his hands. They are heavy.
He lost everything. He got caught. Embezzling. It was only a matter of time. And now his borrowed time, borrowed money, was up. He knew he was going to jail soon.
He hoped they wouldn’t come tonight at his home. With all of his relatives watching. Witnessing his fall.
Earlier his wife had called. Told him to pick up ice. She had forgotten. He couldn’t say anything. Not over the phone. He couldn’t say the words.
He couldn’t bear to admit failure.
Oh how they pound
The bell is incessant. He closes his eyes. When he opens them, he’s made his decision.
Raising the sound
O’er hill and dale
He switches one bag of ice to his left hand and grabs the keys to his Mercedes with his right. He drops the keys into the red bucket with the crossed slot, but the keys don’t fit. They clank.
The bellringer stops mid-ring. His bell pauses in the air on his upswing.
Telling their tale
The man runs out to the street. The car has just started to accelerate after waiting for a lull in the people crossing. The driver had no chance of seeing. The man runs out to the street in front of the car. Ready for impact.
His bags of ice crash to the ground and scatter.
Ding dong, ding dong.
III
Gaily they ring
While people sing
Songs of good cheer
He stands in one place. His hand moves automatically now. Up and down. Up and down. He is the bellringer.
He asks without words. He guards the red Salvation Army bucket. Tonight it is getting full. But that’s what always happens on Christmas Eve. It’s really the last time to give. The last time of the season people will think about it.
Christmas is here
He can hardly hear the bell now. It’s a part of him. An extension of his arm. Really the only thing that seems to be working on his worn, old body. That’s what he thinks about as the people file out of Walmart with smiles and Merry Christmas on their lips.
He likes this part of the evening. The final rush before everything shuts down for the night and following day, when he has nothing to do but sit at home.
His wife passed away years ago. Sometimes he wonders why he was left here. Alone.
They had no children. It never bothered him until she died.
He still likes Christmas. At least the lead up to it. He volunteers as a bellringer as often as he can. Taking the shifts of the no-shows. He offered to take Christmas Eve when everyone else was reluctant to.
He breathes in the crowd’s cheer. It’s as sustaining as life support.
Merry merry merry merry Christmas
A well-dressed middle aged man weighed down with bags of ice stops in front of him. He’s fishing for some change in his pocket. The bellringer smiles and wishes him a Merry Christmas.
His donation makes an odd clunk though. The man stops his ringing. His arm and bell still poised in the air for the downswing. The middle aged man has dropped his keys in the bucket.
The bellringer stares at him in wonder. The Mercedes logo is clearly visible on the fob.
Then the unthinkable. He rushes out in front of a moving car. One that was just speeding up. The bellringer can only watch.
Merry merry merry merry Christmas.
IIII
On on they send
On without end
Their joyful tone
To every home
She’s practically running. She is late to the party. And said she would bring beer and peppermint schnapps. She can almost feel the warm air escaping from the sliding doors of Walmart when she hears it happen.
A car slamming into a body.
People scream. People call for help. The woman turns. There is a man dressed in a suit splayed on the asphalt.
She switches into paramedic mode. She kneels beside him and checks his vitals. Someone calls 911. But there is nothing that can be done.
He would probably be bleeding internally from the injuries sustained from the impact with the car. But he hit his head when he fell. Hard. His skull has cracked and punctured his brain.
She knows there is nothing to be done. She also knows the on-duty paramedics that will be arriving in minutes have to make that call.
So she folds his arms across his body. And waits.
She sees a teenage girl step off the curb. Her eyes are wide and her expression is frozen. The woman knows she saw it happen. She looks up at the girl and gives her a sad smile.
The girl meets her eyes then looks away to the scattered ice now reflecting the red and blue lights. And the first snowflake that falls to meet it.
Ding dong, ding dong.
