A\N: I hate Christmas. So, since my beta got swamped and hasn't given my my fic back, I'll write this instead. :)
TRENT
I'm with the original Scrooge on this one: Christmas-lovers should be boiled in their own plum pudding and buried with a stake of holly in their heart. I mean, come on. Have you ever heard the country version of the Little Drummer Boy? I already feel like shooting myself. The torture is unneeded, thank you.
I feel the snow tugging at my skin. I wish I had a jacket. Wish I were brave enough to go home when I don't know if my dad's there. Maybe he wouldn't be. Maybe I could stretch out on the couch and watch TV again. I haven't watched TV in a month. At least. I don't remember. Christmas would be nice if I could be inside.
I wind up in the cemetary again. Like always. Why do I keep torturing myself like this? I look over the graves, then shake my head. Might as well hang out here. It's winter break. Where else am I going to go? Not Haley's, she pretty much kicked me out, said I needed to hang out with my freinds. Not school. And definitly not Kira's. I'm sure her father thinks I'm a stalker after she let me camp out on her floor once.
I laugh bitterly, looking around. It's fitting, the snow a blanket over the bare land, bare trees jutting out into the sky, and me. The only human being on the planet. Which is how it would have turned out, once upon a time. Would that have been better? I don't know.
I kneel in front of my mother's headstone. "Hi, Mama." I say softly in Spanish. The Spanish I don't dare speak in front of Connor anymore, not after that is-that-a-secret-code-oh-you're-a-beaner fiasco. "I don't have flowers for you. I'm sorry. I guess you noticed I haven't had flowers for a while." I smile humorlessly. "Everyone notices. No one adds it up. No one notices me, just my lack of respect for the dead."
I shut my eyes in pain. "It's Christmas." I whisper. "I won't celebrate with tamales or Mass or my family. I'll listen to horrible screeching blared at me everywhere and see Nativity scenes without Bebe Jesus and be locked out in the snow." I feel tears starting to fall. "Connor went Christmas shopping for his Mama. He talked about it like it was such a pain. Dios, Mama, this isn't Christmas. Not...not without my family."
I laugh a little. "I can almost hear you asking, Isn't Anton your family now, that nice Mr. Mercer who gave me a job? No, Mama. Sorry. He hates me." I let my voice drop to a whisper. "I have a secret, Mama. And it's Christmas, so no one can hear me. I'm the White Ranger." I speak normally again, praying, pleading, please God take this pain from me. "I was turned evil, Mama. I fought Zeltrax constantly, and Mesegog tortured me when he found out. I spent my entire day spying on the other Rangers and planning to kill them. I stalked Kira for a while, and then I...I ran away, Mama, and then I came back."
I can't feel anything now. My tears freeze as they hit the snow. "They said they saved me, Mama. Saved me from Mesegog. They don't realize they killed me." I shake my head. I can't cry. I can't afford to feel. "Dad is Mesegog. Dad did that to me, Dad turned me evil, Dad tortured me. Nice Anton Mercer who gave you a job nearly murdered your son. And now I can't even go home and watch TV because if I do he'll kill me for not being evil."
I shut my eyes again, not from pain this time. There's nothing to feel. "I've been living outside for...I think a month now. A month, two? I don't know. It doesn't add up because I can't sleep any more. If I sleep someone might hurt me. I don't want to be hurt any more, Mama. I want to go back." I smile through the tears. "If I could have one Christmas wish," I whisper, "It would be to go back. Back to us. Back to having a family, and never grow up, live the same day forever. I'd take that, like in those TV shows where a kid wants it to be Christmas all the time. Because I'd have you, Mama, and I'd have Papa."
I stop talking, then whisper, "I'm sorry. Mama, I'm so sorry." I bow my head. "Your son isn't a hero." I confess. "Your son isn't an artist or a genius or doing good to help the world. Your son is killing himself so the rest of the world can live. I'm sorry." The snow hurts, and I can't think of anything else to say.
Does it matter? Does talking to a headstone help at all? Because it's never helped before. It's just a stone, and vibrations in the air. That's all. And when I've talked to Mama and Papa, it hurts even more. I don't have them. I'll never have them again. And all our lives were torn up by their stupid job. They were buried away from the family because it was cheaper to leave them in Reefside where they died. Their son nearly died because of the man who gave them that job.
Someone should change the past. Someone should rewrite it so that one boy doesn't have to take the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone should make sure that the Christmas story doesn't repeat itself, that the world doesn't need another sacrifical lamb.
This isn't right.
"Trent?"
I leap to my feet, whirling. How much of that did this guy here? Oh, no. Oh, Dios y Jesus, no. Not Anton. Please not Dad. I don't want to run away again, I don't want to have to fight, I want to be left alone to die.
"Trent..." Anton walks forward. "It's okay. Just me, son." He looks shocked. You heard, didn't you? And now you understand exactly what you've done to me, exactly why I come here all the time. Exactly why I never speak to you, go out of my way to avoid you.
"I'm sorry." Anton says quietly. "Trent, I'm so sorry for this."
I want to scream. I want to tear him apart. I want him to feel every minute of the pain I've felt. I want him to die for me, so I can be a normal boy again. But I can't move, can't do anything but keep the tears out of my eyes and struggle not to kill him.
"Trent?" Anton asks hesitantly. That breaks me again. I'm cold, flawless, perfect, deadly. An ice boy.
I walk away.
When I die, it won't be at his hands. At least I can spare him that. Merry Christmas, Dad. Hope you like your present.
It's the last present I'll be able to give you.
