Written by Me
It was Christmas, the most beautiful time of the year where snow fell thickly like hundreds and thousands of cotton buds raining from the sky. It was the festival of joy and warmth, of happiness and love, a time for families to be together with their loved ones to enjoy baked potatoes and stuffed turkeys as they sing Christmas Carols.
But not for him.
The boy was cold and miserable, and his legs were shaking so much from the cold that they barely supported his very little weight. His face was grimy and his eyes bruised from abuse. Harsh red welts stood out from his cold pale skin, an evidence of the abuse he had gone through before he escaped into this dark windy night. But not matter, he told himself, at long last, I am free. His breath condensed in the air at the sigh and the boy almost smiled a little. The wind howled and the snow drifted, all the boy could do was to pull his tattered jacket around himself even tighter, hoping to shield himself form the cold, biting wind.
On and on he drifted in the dark night, trudging on in the knee-deep snow. He had nowhere to go, and nowhere to call home. He wished that someone, just someone might happen to step out of their warm house, perhaps just to walk their dog or collect their letters, and then maybe, just maybe give him some food. He was so hungry that the empty aching feeling in his stomach had become a constant companion, gnawing and licking his insides. He smelled the warm, delicious smell of roasted meat and did all he could to not spring at the window, panting and drooling at the smell.
He was a poor, starving boy that no one cared even if he fall upon the street dead.
He walked for what seemed like years in the sea of snow that lay stretched infinitely before him. It was an amazing thing that he could walk for that long, cold and hungry he was. In the subconsciousness of his mind, he wondered very very briefly, why was he born? He had no family, no friends, and no home. What was the purpose of him being on earth? For a split of a second, he felt angry and upset that his mother gave birth to him then threw him away. Ho-how could- she?
At long last, he collapsed upon a door of a warm house and lay there, quite still and unmoving. He extremities felt numb from the sheer cold and he felt too weak to even open his eyes. He sat there, and listened to the merry family sing “Jingle Bells” just a door apart from him. The cheeriness of their song felt like a stinging, stabbing pain in his chest, of the song that he heard so much but had no one to sing with. He opened his parched dry lips and tried to sing jingle bells, but a mere croak came out before he slumped away unconsciously.
*I have lost my patience to write a sad, weepy story so I shall conclude this tragic story happily*
The boy woke up next day and discovered that he was Santa Clause.
End of Story.