PsychoBeth
12-13-2007, 08:16 PM
just as per warning, this story isn't a happy one.
Christmas Morning
Christmas morning is a time of magic for millions of children in the world. Bobby was no exception; he had tried to be good all year. He got an ‘A’ in math, and a ‘B’ in everything else, except grammar, where he got a ‘C’. Little eight-year-old Bobby was disappointed, but his parents were proud. They had planned an especially great party for him; they got him everything he had wanted. They were sure he would be happy. Anything to make their dearest baby happy. Anything at all. Toy trucks, plastic soldiers, shiny new big-kid bikes. Anything.
Bobby was particularly excited this Christmas, he had seen the ring of presents, but he wouldn’t let himself see was they were until Christmas morning. He woke at 4:30 exactly. He had set his alarm clock to that time. It was the same every Christmas; he snuck downstairs to rip tiny holes in his presents, so he could see what he had gotten. This way, when his parents came down, he could open his least favourite presents first. “Best for last”. His classmates had taught him that, and he stuck by it. Downstairs there seemed to be as many presents as there were pine-needles. They stuck out from under the lavishly decorated tree in wide berth. They were all for Bobby.
He went through slowly, peeling the tape off the underside of his presents, then sticking it back again. It was an almost painful process, going slowly to make sure not to rip the actual paper, trying hard not to make any noise. But to him, it was all worth it; it made his year, his life, worthwhile. This year was particularly excruciating, agonizing; all those presents, and to go through them all, so slowly, one at a time.
By the time he was done, it was almost 5:30, he’d been working for nearly an hour, and he was tired. The fire roared warmly, and he watched it as he got up; carefully picking his way around the presents. He was right near the fireplace when he tripped over one of them, and he flew right into that warm glow. Paralyzed with fear, he screamed, he was burning. But his parents couldn’t hear him, they were fast asleep; and by the time they came downstairs, Bobby was just a lump of ashes in a brightly burning fire.
Christmas Morning
Christmas morning is a time of magic for millions of children in the world. Bobby was no exception; he had tried to be good all year. He got an ‘A’ in math, and a ‘B’ in everything else, except grammar, where he got a ‘C’. Little eight-year-old Bobby was disappointed, but his parents were proud. They had planned an especially great party for him; they got him everything he had wanted. They were sure he would be happy. Anything to make their dearest baby happy. Anything at all. Toy trucks, plastic soldiers, shiny new big-kid bikes. Anything.
Bobby was particularly excited this Christmas, he had seen the ring of presents, but he wouldn’t let himself see was they were until Christmas morning. He woke at 4:30 exactly. He had set his alarm clock to that time. It was the same every Christmas; he snuck downstairs to rip tiny holes in his presents, so he could see what he had gotten. This way, when his parents came down, he could open his least favourite presents first. “Best for last”. His classmates had taught him that, and he stuck by it. Downstairs there seemed to be as many presents as there were pine-needles. They stuck out from under the lavishly decorated tree in wide berth. They were all for Bobby.
He went through slowly, peeling the tape off the underside of his presents, then sticking it back again. It was an almost painful process, going slowly to make sure not to rip the actual paper, trying hard not to make any noise. But to him, it was all worth it; it made his year, his life, worthwhile. This year was particularly excruciating, agonizing; all those presents, and to go through them all, so slowly, one at a time.
By the time he was done, it was almost 5:30, he’d been working for nearly an hour, and he was tired. The fire roared warmly, and he watched it as he got up; carefully picking his way around the presents. He was right near the fireplace when he tripped over one of them, and he flew right into that warm glow. Paralyzed with fear, he screamed, he was burning. But his parents couldn’t hear him, they were fast asleep; and by the time they came downstairs, Bobby was just a lump of ashes in a brightly burning fire.