Chapter 11: Christmas Eve
Christmas eve was a dreary affair. The holiday always announced his birthday, which Tom preferred not to think about since thinking about it reminded him of his parents, or rather, the strangers that gave birth to him. Such thoughts were useless. Inwardly, he scowled. This year's misery of Christmas was compounded by the fact that the girl had one upped him in magic. And the wretched girl dared to avoid him for days after the affair. No matter how hard he tried to find her she eluded his grasps.
He stared coldly from his perch on the window at the laughing children singing Christmas songs around the tree, if the shrub in the middle of the room could even be called one. He thought it was a pitiful, pathetic sight. He had long concluded that Christmas was a time for children who still didn't know reality, and a fairy tale for adults who were running from reality. He considered himself in neither category, and he was completely fine with foregoing the celebrations.
As his thoughts continued down its pessimistic path, a small bundle flew through the window and landed at his feet. It was a gift he realized, with a note attached. Picking up the plain, though neatly wrapped gift, Tom looked outside for the thrower but could not find anyone in sight. Giving a small sigh, he opened the note.
Thank you for not telling.
H.