The winter season was a love or hate type of deal for Arun. More often than not, it was the latter case. It was the time of year where the cold, once well-loved during the sweltering summer was now hated as it froze the world. Plants died, animals were forced to sleep, and the weather could kill if not properly prepared for it.

Arun was well used to the cold temperature. On most days out of the year his skin was cool to the touch. Though it never bothered him, he took to wearing jackets and sweaters when it became too much. During the winter season, it became intolerable.

It was not only the element that Arun despised but also what it represented.

"Arun, what are you asking Santa for Christmas?" Arty innocently asked one day out of the blue.

His body came to a halt as his sandwich (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off) hovered before his mouth, clamped between his hands. Across the lunch table, Arty stared at him expectantly. The loud chatter of the school cafeteria did nothing to make Arun think he heard wrong.

"Santa? He's not real," he answered, plainly.

She sighed and shook her head in a manner that suggested she was talking to a naïve child. She always did that whenever he did something not socially acceptable.

"He's real. Who else gives good little kids presents for Christmas?"

"Your dad?"

"That can't be it. Daddy can't afford some of the things I got before."

Arun didn't want to ruin her belief in Santa Claus since she was still more childish than him. He grew up in a harsh reality, so he had an excuse not to believe in him.

Then again, he was around her age when he stopped believing.

"Arty, your dad bought you those. He just worked really hard for them," he said to her. "Santa doesn't exist. How can he even fit down a chimney if he's fat? It's not possible."

"Magic, duh! He can expand the chimney and slid right down."

"Then, how can he deliver presents around the world in one night?"

"His sleigh can go really fast. Oh! And he can probably freeze time to deliver everything."

Arun wanted to smack her. She couldn't be serious. Placing down his sandwich, he fixed a scowl at her.

"Time travel? That's stupid and doesn't make sense. Magic doesn't work like that."

She pouted, lips pressed around a bendy straw to her apple juice carton. She tried to talk around it and succeeded. "How could you know how magic works? Are you a wizard?"

"Maybe he's a demon?" Caelum walked up to their lunch table. Having just exited the long lunch line, he held a blue tray topped with chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes, grapes, and milk. He set down his tray and sat next to Arty. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Arun says Santa Claus isn't real! He's been trying to tell me he can't do all the stuff he can because magic works different."

The ten year old shot him a deadly glare. It became a habit for Arun to return it having known the wimpy kid for a few months already.

"Don't listen to him. He's just mad that Santa doesn't give presents to naughty little boys," he said, chewing into his meal.

"I'm naughty? What about you? Aren't good little boys not supposed to be mean for others?" Arun shot back. His face began to warm that had nothing to do with the cafeteria's heater.

"You don't count as a little boy. You're a little demon."

Arun grit his teeth as his glare deepened at the boy calmly eating his lunch. Everything that came out of his mouth never failed to infuriate him. He had never met anyone that could make him want to scoop his eyeballs out of his skull with a spork with but a few words.

Why did Arty have to be friends with such a surly kid anyway, he wondered, shoving his sandwich in his mouth to also swallow the deep anger inside him. Arty was one of the kindest girls he had ever known. She didn't need that jerk when she had him. Then again, Caelum was her oldest friend.

Whether he liked it or not, she would choose Caelum over him any day.

"I don't think Santa would be so mean and give Arun coal. He's been doing better lately," Arty defended in her soft voice. She glanced between the two, the tension floating in the air.

"If you mean he's stopped stealing and smells better, then I guess it is an improvement."

"You shut your mouth!" Arun yelled. The lunch room fell silent as all the kids stared at their table. The teachers on duty inched closer in case a fight broke out. It was almost routine for them to separate Arun and Caelum during fights. Arty sunk in her chair, thoroughly embarrassed by them. "What do I care if Santa doesn't give me presents? He doesn't exist in the first place!"

"So you admit Santa doesn't give you anything for Christmas? I figured as much."

Arun jumped out of his chair and pounded the table with a fist. He was tempted to punch the smug smirk on Caelum's face, but the teachers were already approaching. Instead, he took his rage out on the table. Making a rude hand gesture at Caelum, he stalked out of the lunch room, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

It wasn't even Christmas yet, but he already felt like the holiday was killing him.

He hated winter.

xxx

"Arun?"

At the sound of his name Arun buried his head beneath his pillow at Arty's voice. The pillow also helped to block out the hallway light that entered to illuminate his dark room. There was little light inside since he had drawn the curtains closed. Other than the door opening, there was no other movement.

He was glad that Arty didn't abuse her free reign to his small house. Her father had helped him get the place a month ago. The landlord was a friend of his and gave him a discount in renting it out. However, if Arun did anything that the land lord didn't like it was back to the streets for him.

So Arty was free to come into his house, though she never abused the privilege. At that moment, where he was stewing in his simmering anger, he wished she didn't have access to his home.

"Arun, I'm sorry about what Caelum said to you," she apologized, quietly. "He really shouldn't have talked to you like that. It was pretty mean."

"I'll say," he snorted to his pillow. He removed it away from his mouth so fresh air came in. "Don't apologize for something that's not your fault. It doesn't mean anything otherwise."

"I know. I think he was just mad you were telling me Santa wasn't real."

"That's because he's not."

"You don't know that."

"Then, why haven't I gotten anything for Christmas?" he burst out. The simmering turned into full out boiling. He sat up, threw off the pillow entirely, and scowled in Arty's direction. The light made it hard to make out her face. "When I believed in Santa I wrote to him what I wanted for Christmas. You know what I got? Absolutely nothing! Not even a damned piece of coal! While everyone got their presents I didn't get anything!"

"Not even coal?" she asked, perplexed.

He nodded as he settled back on his bed. He could only muster a short burst of anger. He didn't like to remember that Santa basically ignored him.

"I'd be happy to even get a piece of coal. At least I know then that Santa hates me."

"Santa doesn't hate you. Maybe it was too hard to get you your presents? What did you ask for?"

"The usual kid stuff," Arun lied, shrugging. Arty was his friend, but he wasn't comfortable enough to tell her about his past.

Besides, how was he supposed to tell her he wanted a family for Christmas? That was too weird.

"Oh," Arty lamely said. She stood at the doorway, fidgeting awkwardly. "Well, uh, maybe he just forgot? I mean, he has to deliver presents to thousands of kids. And since he's pretty old, he's bound to forget a few kids, right?"

"He's supposed to check his list twice."

"Oh. Right. Well, things are different now! You've got a stable place to live in now. You should try writing to him."

"What's the point? He's going to ignore me again."

"You don't know that."

Arun remained silent. He didn't want to grace that with an answer. She could have been right, yet he didn't want to get his hopes up. He did that so many times in the past he knew that doing so now would set him up for disappointment.

Arty sighed, a hint of frustration laced in the single exhale. "Please consider writing a letter. I don't want you to hate Santa because you thought he hates you."

"I make no promises," he responded, feeling himself give into the request. Against Arty, his only friend, he wanted to do anything to keep her with him. He was still trying to build an immunity to that.

"I'm okay with that. At least I know you'll think about it. Anyway, I just came by to check up on you," she said, far cheerier than a moment ago. "I'm gonna go home now, okay? I'll see you tomorrow!"

She didn't wait to hear him bid her farewell. Stepping back, she pulled the door with her on the way out. The light became smaller and smaller until he was left alone in the darkness again. Arun waited for the definite slam downstairs that signaled Arty was out of his house, and then moved.

He rolled over to bury his face in his pillow again.

Write to Santa Claus again? Arun wasn't stupid enough to try that again. When he still lived in the orphanage he was like any other kid and wrote to the big man in red. Throughout the year he attempted to be a good boy until he unexpectantly relapsed to his disrespectful and mischievous ways. As Christmas rolled in he would write what he wanted and sent his list to Santa when Mrs. Parish asked for them.

However, on Christmas day, he found no present under the Christmas tree labeled for him while the other kids played in joy with their presents. He couldn't understand why he never got anything, so he kept trying.

It was the year before he was kicked out did he hear the truth.

One day after the kids wrote their lists and gave them to Mrs. Parish he went to the kitchen to sneak in a quick snack before dinner. The kitchen turned out to not be empty as he heard voices inside. Curiosity got to him and he eavesdropped on what was being said by standing outside the closed door.

It was Mrs. Parish and one of the teenaged volunteers who worked at the orphanage for community service. She told the volunteer to sort out the Christmas lists to separate the naughty children from the nice. The nice, well behaved children she would buy their presents. The naught children would receive clothes if they were lucky.

Needless to say, hearing this conversation shattered what little holiday cheer he had during the winter season.

Arun didn't want to write a list only to find it sitting in his mailbox. He was sick of getting his hopes raised.

Arty's face flashed in his head and his groaned into his pillow. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but what about Arty? She already hoped he would write to Santa? Did he want to watch her delight fall to disappointment when he told her he didn't do as she asked?

For some reason, that thought didn't sit well with him.

But what am I supposed to ask for? Arun reluctantly succumbed to the idea. There was no fighting it. He was going to write to Santa whether he liked it or not. Now that begged the question: what to ask for?

Having settled back into what was considered a 'normal' life, Arun wasn't sure what he could ask Santa. He wasn't at the stage where he was so bored with life he needed new material possessions. He doubted asking for rent money was an option. How much would Santa even give him? He also recently moved in and wasn't interested in books, toys, or clothes. He had all that.

In that line of thought he would ask for something he really wanted. There was still a problem seeing as he didn't know what he wanted.

I don't want to be alone again, he thought, forlornly. Arun had a taste of being friends with people. He didn't want Arty to stop being his friend. After many months, he still worried she would decide she didn't want to be his friend anymore. That was the only thing he could think of that he really wanted.

He didn't want to lose Arty's friendship.

"I'm pathetic," he said aloud, scoffing at the absurdity of the situation. He was going to ask Santa to let Arty stay as his friend. It was stupid, but he was really going to ask for that. As if Santa could make a little girl stay his friend! He laughed at himself with no real humor as he rolled out of bed. "I can't believe I'm really going to do this. I'm really desperate, aren't I?"

The silence in the air told him, yes, he was desperate. He was still in the habit of talking to himself, so of course he would want to keep his friend for the sake of talking to other people!

Shaking his head at how he was so low as to ask an adult for friendship, he walked over to his desk, turned on the dim desk lamp, and sat down. His desk was small and relatively clean. Most of his notebooks for school and his textbooks were piled in stacks on the edges to keep the main area clear of clutter. Grabbing a loose leaf paper from the stacks and a half-chewed on plastic pen (he had a bad habit of putting them in his mouth and chewing on them when thinking), he began to compose his letter.

Arun decided to write whatever came to mind without really thinking about it. He wanted to finish the letter and get it over with like he would with homework. Who cared if it was right or not? At least he spent time and consideration doing it. He kept the letter short and straight to the point.

It took him all of fifteen minutes to write it and he was blushing at the end of it. He couldn't look at the letter without feeling embarrassed.

"I'm a weakling," he said, dragging his hand down his face to cover the embarrassment he felt. Writing to Santa at his age-this was so dumb! He was half-tempted to crumple up the note to hide his shame, but he made a promise to Arty. He folded it up three times into a rectangle and put it in a red envelope. Scribbling the return address and who the letter was addressed to, he slammed it on the desk and turned out the light. He would put it in his mailbox in the morning before school.

He went back to his bed to bury his head in the comfort of the downy pillow and tried to forget his actions. He swore if Santa didn't do anything again he was never going to write to him again.

This was the last year he was going to believe in Santa Claus.

XXX

Merry Christmas, everyone!

I thought to give this little piece as my gift to all of you who have stuck around to read Heart and Soul. I know it's been awhile since I've updated that. I've hit a bit of a writer's block concerning the next chapter and I recently came out of it. It'll take me a couple days to write down the rest of the chapter and type it up. In the meantime I decided to give you all this!

It's not much, but seeing how it's the Christmas season to write when Arun wrote his last letter to Santa, which was revealed in the end of the Halloween Town section. He's still at the age where he wasn't sure if Santa was real and I think people have gone through that. Personally, seeing as how my family has a tradition of opening gifts at midnight on Christmas Eve for as long as I remember, I don't think I even bought the whole Santa Claus idea. But that's just me and my culture ruining that belief.

What about all of you? When did you stop believing in Santa and how did you find out?

I hope you all have a happy holiday!

-Twilit Angel