Friday, December 24, 2010

What Do You Want For Christmas?

It started out as a night like any other.
Can you count on your hands how many times you’ve heard those words? Clich├ęd Cadillacs, cops and robbers, dear. Her life is a James Bond flick.
Last Christmas, she loved him; the silence between them had been devastation for her – a 5.0 Richter scale earthquake to her no-man’s land hideaway. He was gone for a while, and, at that point, she’d hoped he wasn’t coming back.
This year, this morning, he buttoned her jacket up, slowly, bottom-up, as if he regretted his actions the very moment he made them. Pulled her hat down over her ears. Kissed her forehead, as if he could still look after her, protect her. She told him goodbye, walked away with a smile while he had tears on his cheeks.
Hours later and she’s running, starving, screaming (only on the inside). The cold is a killer. It possesses her fingertips and doesn’t leave until spring. She hates it; she hates everything.
Her coat is dirty with blood, spit, tears. She’d give anything to go back to their dawn and away from what she chose. She can’t now; no turning back now. She may be dead before the morning comes.
“Santa,” she begs, “will you grant me my Christmas wish now?”
all i want for christmas is you

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