And then she saw it. The first snowdrops of winter. And before Christmas? When had that last happened? White Christmases were a thing of the past, existing now only in fiction or
Christmas card scenes. It was lovely to look at, but a little sad too.
The snow fell lightly, dreamily to the ground without a sound. It made her think of the last snowfall, back in February. She’d childishly gone sledging with Brian. They had whizzed down the huge, sloping hill not for from their house alongside the hundreds of children who had gathered there. She and Brian had laughed about how the two of them had been the only adults there, unaccompanied by children (and Alison being a schoolteacher, nonetheless!).
It should have been a happy memory if it weren’t for the fact that she and Brian had unhappily split up, and hadn’t spoken in some months. The anger had faded, but the loneliness was still very present. She didn’t know quite how it had happened, but she’d found herself quite alone. No family, no close friends. This year, she’d be spending Christmas Day alone. She tried telling herself that this was normal, that it happened to lots of people and that it wasn’t a big deal. But this just created a bigger issue in her own head and she let herself become quite miserable.
She let a solitary tear fall from her eye and down her cheek as she gazed at the lovely, horrible snow outside. And now, somehow, that beautiful version of O Holy Night that was played by a boy who looked oh so much like Ethan began to play in her head, and it made the one tear turn to two, and then three, and then so quickly to turn to despondent gushes of vehemence.
There’s more to that boy, she thought. There’s something within him, asleep. Hiding from the world and the jeering defamation he fears. Oh, how I wish I could find it. Before it’s too late…
The Christmas Special "Short Stories by Chris Morris" podcast will release on Christmas Day, available on all major podcast platforms, and here: www.chrisamorris.com/podcast
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