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Christmas Morning 1905

Updated on March 3, 2016

Christmas born

Christmas Time
Christmas Time

Snow smiles.

The weeks leading to Christmas gave her mixed feelings, as she longed for completeness among her family. Constantly waiting for the door to knock, or for mail to arrive with the hope of a distant invite became a nag upon her soul. The decoration of the tree for the past twenty years became a task undertaken alone. The painted wooden soldier and red coated father Christmas had long ago acquired personalities of their own. The wooden Christmas toy's smiling faces and guaranteed arrival had become more constant than her own family. The toys were the only faces in the room apart from her own and luckily thier refusal to look back with sadness had become mild support. Why had her family become so divided? There were many secret explanations for their distance, but most of them were unspeakable. As it grew close to Christmas day her heart grew heavy and the promise to herself, to not feel sad looked about to be broken. Maybe, to leave this once occupied house via a short break would stop these feelings of rejection. Distance would free her from the fact no-one hardly ever contacted her, or invited her anywhere, but this fantasy holiday break never materialized. The money painstakingly saved had long ago become frittered to depletion. Pondering now only circulated around, if she had enough money for coal and basic things. The prospect of Christmas dinner with surrounding warm smiling faces melted to drips like the newly fallen snow. What was the crime and why did they continue with their punishing silence? It became a sentence mildly similar to that of a prisoner, which nobody visited and the plan to make her feel like she had committed a crime had worked a long time ago. The cessation of sending out regular Christmas cards came about two years ago because nobody ever replied. If it had not been for her Uncle's letters she probably would of cut off all hope. There was always her work and the distant wonder, as she looked over the land and imagined the various parties all of which were in full swing. What dress to choose and what sauce to use. Would it be goose, or duck? They would pull crackers, as they laughed and joked. Finding it difficult to remember if mistletoe was used at Christmas, or some other festive holiday made her briefly smile. Remembering her father reminded her just how things were supposed to be at Christmas. As a person her father brought Christmas into a room and shared it with all present and he managed to never let her down, but he had died some years ago. This empty house was her life now and so full of nothing and nobody. The clock loudly struck it's twelve long strokes, as midnight arrived and quickly passed. As a girl she would have raced down the stairs shouting, "It's Christmas day!" Like all children she would have then begged to open her presents. As an adult mustering the strength to face the continual rejection became like a personal guillotine. So, nobody shared Christmas again and this stale Christmas bread would not change. The only constant thing was their silence and even this placed strange antagonistic demands upon her every breath. In her imagination each family member had become a champion in the art of not mentioning her at the dinner table. If her name did become accidentally mentioned, it would be quickly rebuffed with coarse ready awaiting lies, which were spurned on by port and wine. The family did not want to upset their present company, or cause rifts that would weaken ties. So, they brush away the unwanted Christmas snow from their new black winter coats because they do not want to spoil the precious fabric. They all stand to toast the blissful cheery season and mingle in mild argument, as they decide what Christmas games to play? This is the great family occasion of Christmas 1905.


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