I hear sleigh bells in the distance. I sleepily dig deep into my red velvet bed covers and snuggle in with my rugged teddy bear. I wriggle with disappointment and know that St. Nicholas hasn't brought be me my gift. Sunlight fractures through my frosted window and lightens up my bedroom to make the swabs of dust look like twinkling stars. I peek through and unravel myself from my cosy blanket. I crouch down beneath my bed and pull out my classic advent calendar. All of the 24 cardboard windows had been opened and the festive dairy milk chocolate shapes peeled and separated from the foil. A sweet, sugary treat for every day in December, leading up to Christmas Day but nothing little and special for today. I groaned and tucked it back under my bed. I roughly lean up against the wall. I reminded myself that I wasn't truly a forest animal in hibernation even if I felt like it. I shook my head restlessly and briskly advanced to my chest of drawers. I choose a medium sized, scented candle labelled "Spicy Cinnamon." I place it carefully on my bedside table and light it with a match. I can immediately smell the reassuring aroma of rich, thick, rustic cinnamon with a sharp kick of earthy ground spices. I relax and ease myself into a pair of musky and worn black trousers, a creased buttoned white shirt and finally layer on a knitted scarlet V- neck jumper. I slip on my fluffy, cream slippers and depart down stairs into the living room. I scanned around the room. I saw a stubby, flaky tree sitting in the very left hand corner of the room. It was decorated with thin red wound tinsel and reflective green baubles hung up on each branch. We have had these traditional decorations for years, before I was even born but I was still very fond of them. I knelt down and felt it. I brushed my hand past the jagged leaves and touched it's twigs. I had concluded that the Christmas tree was prickly and bent and so I resisted any further interaction and stepped over to the warming coal fire. The dirty smokiness gradually escaped from the coal, the flames heightened, the chunks of coal crumbled and broke down. I inhale the smoggy fumes. I can almost taste the gritty coal, like I have bitten into it. I choke and move away from the entrance of the fire. I lift my shoulders and stretch and unsteadily rise up to my feet. The heat of the room absorbs into my body. I sit. I pick up the yesterday's folded newspaper and scan along and down the columns. "Tedious", I thought. There is always a recognisable tragedy printed for the headline, crime reports inserted on the second page and death is shown on the following pages. These papers are published and copied like a disease. And of course the normal ramble of preposterous political nonsense. I sternly stare at the plain pages of the newspaper and shut them. I close my eyes and wish for my father to return. I pray for him to be alive and for Santa Claus to fulfil his duty an responsibility to make children's dreams come true. I am not a child any more, I am a young adult. I strenuously clench my fists and stamp my feet vigorously off the floor. I squish up my face as my forehead pulsated and my wrinkles widened. Reality was unforgivable and my life was painful.
"I need you," I squelchingly weep. I wheeze with anguish and resentment. I gulp, welling up with salty tears. I swell up, my arms shaking with fear. I'm crawled over when I feel an unwelcoming draft of wind coming from beside me...