Three

Wanting a white Christmas always seemed childish to me even when I was younger. Yet when I wake and see a fine layer of white covering the city, it makes me feel… It's a nice change of scenery.

I walk outside and notice that the air isn't cold. Neither is the snow.

I spend the day shaping snow with my hands. In time I have a snow person. I fill the city with them.

Evening comes and I go to Rockefeller Center. The Christmas tree glows, the only light for miles. It's so beautiful.

The next morning when I wake it's all gone. The tree, my snow people… Not even puddles left behind. Yesterday the city was full. Now I am alone again. It gnaws inside me, leaving me raw and aching.

There are no guns here for me to blow my head off. Slitting my wrists and neck do no good: I heal too quickly. I try to hang myself and manage to pass out, but when I wake I'm free from the noose. Drowning and suffocation yield similar results.

I can't die. I knew this already but the idea has never been more frightening.

It's New Year's eve and all I want to do is get plastered drunk. But after consuming literally all of the alcohol in the city, I'm still sober.

I hate the holidays.