Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bell swing
And jingle bells ring
Snowin' and blowin'
Up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun
Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in
Jingle bell time
Dancin' and prancin'
In jingle bell square
In the frosty air
What a bright time
It's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell, time
Is a swell time
To go glidin' in a
one horse sleigh
Giddy-up, jingle horse
Pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and mingle
In a jinglin' beat
That's the jingle bell rock
The music had a festive air to it as Newt glanced around, the patrons carrying bags upon bags in their tight grips. To be perfectly honest, the tall lad wasn't entirely fond of all of the presents. It seemed like that was all these people cared about, presents, rather than the suffering of those in the living world below.
In this afterlife, it seemed that everything had to be 'perfect' and hence they couldn't possibly know about the pain of the people in the world beneath them. They couldn't know about the millions of children infected by the Flare, and the few hundred who had been killed by the Trials. Newt, a little girl named Mary who'd been just five when she'd been killed, Winston whose head had been stolen away by the strange metal balls. There was Gen, who'd been in the girl's Glade for a short few months before a creature, a Shade, Sonya had called them, had snatched her away.
These people, who'd allegedly been good and kind in life, had changed in their afterlives. They had no care for the living, and only sympathy for the dead. They pitied each other and cared not for the living.
Strange, how the afterlife had changed these people.