A sliver of streetlight shone shyly through the slit in the curtains; an intruding peek. Outside, the delicate snowflakes existed for a moment underneath the lamps before vanishing into the unseen. Inside, Billy squeezed the corner of his oversized pillowcase and dabbed a rouge tear.
He rolled to his left to hide the shame of teenage sadness and saw the loose wrapping paper once more. It’s glittering patterns of girlish colour tones drew both further sadness and inward anger; a violent fit of self-loathing.
‘Dammit…dammit dammit dammit’ he agonised with the duvet clenched to his face.
Beneath the blanket the warm darkness returned him to the windowfront of Bernie’s Toy Emporium. He was holding his own face in his woolen gloves as he fought off the humiliation of the theft. The boys had followed him from school on their bikes, down through the evergreen neighbourhoods of Elvery and Chastwood, Billy’s blowing red scarf a beacon the entire way.
Outside Bernie’s, the boys took his pocket money as he stood watching the window show. Trains and robots ignited his imagination, but it was the country landscape jigsaw he so dearly wanted to purchase for his sister, Lillian. It reminded him of their first home which they lived in with the parents they now cried to remember. She would so love to go back, too.
He resisted the boys at first, finally giving way to their demands knowing a blood speckled coat would be less than pleasing to Mr and Mrs Stern.
Dejected, he removed the duvet from his face and rolled to his right again to face the watching streetlight. The silent snow lived and died as he bit down on the corner of his pillowcase to keep the mechanisms of his quivering throat quiet. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve.
-end-
all words are mine. if you enjoyed the story, let me know.
Gene Murphy Writer 
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