Seasons Greetings

The dishes overflowed. The rug was a crumpled mass, an unintentional booby trap. The soup was half finished, and the pot was boiling over.

Hastily, I scrambled to the stove and shut it off. While he sprawled himself over the couch, beer in hand. The TV mindlessly babbled as he watched it without regard to the hot mess around us.

"David, honey, could I have some help here?"

"Ah, just do it, yerself, ya old hag!" He waved an uncaring hand at me. Slowly, I brought myself back to work. I washed the chipped tea cup as I wondered where the charming man I once knew went. The yellow mustard went back into the cupboard as my heart sunk.

"He was never that person," a small voice in my head hissed. "He knows you love him too much to complain as you're neck up in junk!"

Silent years fell as I sat by the window of our bedroom. Another Christmas came and left with poisoning isolation.

My family seemed so far away, and my friends weren't able to contact me anymore.

No more cherries I got to pick from bushes in the country. No playing in the tennis courts. No putting on fluffy socks as my brother and I raced across tile floors.

Now, my life was a shadow of what it once was. It is filled with creaky wooden planks and a deadbeat.

The only joy I could get was from the neighbors' Christmas lights. Oh, how beautiful they were flickering crimson and green.

Eventually, night would fall, and I had to tear my eyes away from the lights.

As I slept, a strange thought entered my mind. I should leave. Go home for Christmas. Slowly, I crawled out of bed. I packed a bag long into the night. Once the work was done, I went back to sleep, waiting for the morning.

Christmas morning. I tentatively crept down the stairs. Pulling my backpack on, I skidded toward the door.

The bump of my shoulder on the shelt shocked my soul out of my body. Everything froze as his angry footsteps came closer. Louder. And louder. My heartbeat stopped.

"What the HELL are you doing!?" His ranting was cut short when he saw the backpack. My breath was caught in my throat.

"Are you leaving me," he shouted.

"No! No! I just wanted to go home for Christmas please—"

I don't remember anything after that. I huddled myself in the corner. He had been gone for hours, but it still felt as if he was right beside me.

Between sobs, one thought entered my mind.

His demise would be mine.

I'm not sure where I got the idea of how he would die. Maybe I wanted him to suffer the way I have for four years. Maybe it was inspiration from the pranks my brother pulled on each other in the brighter days of my youth.

Whatever the idea came from. I worked tirelessly. Tying and taping. Screwing and measuring. Then all I had to do was wait. Patiently wait like a predator for their prey.

Soon the prey did come. Staggering drunk, per usual. I faked washing dishes waiting for the inevitable tug.

And it came.

He went flying and flailing. His voice pierced my ears. Still, a smile plastered my face.

Now he knew what agony felt like.

I waited for silence. His breathing was ragged as I walked over to him.

The look on his face— Ah hah ha! Oh how I've waited for this.

I could only smile as his breathing cut short.

As I stood over his motionless form, the trails of blood that swarmed out of his body filled me with euphoria.

My lips curved into a small smile as I addressed him.

"Merry Christmas, honey," I said. He gave no reply— of course, he couldn't. What was I thinking? I giggled at my own foolishness.

"I wish my gift was as special as yours," I continued. "After all, I've got exactly what I wanted."