Category : Stories

Sub Category : Fantasy

   His eyes were blood shot and puffy from too little sleep and too many clove cigarettes. He sat wearily on the edge if his unmade bed, short legs dangling with a certain heavy gravity, unwanting to move himself out and away from this cheap hotel room, the sound of glass breaking down the hall where someone was ‘correcting’ someone else, voices murmured and subdued through the gritty, greasy walls. Life on the outside hadn't turned out to be quite so rosy and he found himself more and more regretting his decision to leave the comforts of his prison. 
   At first, it had been exciting, seeing the world new and inviting and so full of the every day wonders of life on the outside. Back then, he openly mocked his warden and swore he'd never go back to that prison, regardless of what may come. Life was as wide open as a welcoming door to a new home, but then, the thin veneer had vanished in a gust of hot, dirty air that smelled of tar and too many people in a small area. He found himself on his own, no support system in place to help him find his footing on the mean streets, littered with both human and human-made garbage. His first night out, he had been robbed by a desperate man, looking for anything that could be sold in order to get a fix. Right after, a tired, angry woman had propositioned him and he struggled to make sense of her rage when he declined. He had found the world confusing and loud and mean and nasty, and he very much began to doubt.  Wandering the many layered city only brought more confusion and longing for a safe place to land, somewhere that wasn't bitter and anxious about the world. Generally an honest person, he found himself stealing money off a table in an open air cafe, and in his panic to escape, nearly was hit by a city bus, which blew its horn at him loudly in derisive annoyance. He was so frightened and ashamed of himself,  but desperate also, and he found he had  enough money to buy himself this shabby room, with the dirty sheet and torn pillow, bits of soiled feathers drifted heavily to the floor. 
   Only one single night paid for, he stood up off the bed to leave. He had nothing of any value, so it took no effort to exit through the patched door and walk down the hallway. The glass breaking fight seemed to be over as the room from where the sound came from was totally silent. “Either they left, or someone's in there dead”, he thought to himself. He passed the door, wishing to not know the truth, as the truth was going to be ugly he was almost sure. Ugly like his room, like this hotel, like this city.
   Like this world.
   Out on the street, he wandered, dazed by the noise, by the filth. His prison didn't seem much like a prison anymore. Yes, it was a world contained within itself, but not like this. After a time, blindly following the track of his own purposeless feet, he found himself outside a small church, it's brick facade old and graffiti decorating it's heavy door. Tentatively, he entered to an empty space, no one seemed to be around. His fingers trailed along the wooden pews, the wood scratched and gouged with names and dates and descriptions of all kinds, dried wads of gum stuck in every crevasse. He found the strength and courage to go about halfway up the center aisle before his legs gave out and he lurched into a seat. Sitting there, the noise of traffic and screaming seemed to fade and he felt a sense of peace come over him. Feeling the need for a bath, his fingers sticky and grimy from life on the streets, he folded his hands in prayer.
   “I was unhappy in my life. I always felt like I was missing out on something, something bigger than my little slice of the world. And when I got out, I thought I could be so happy. But this- this isn't what I wanted the world to be. I wanted happiness, and joy. Like home. I wanted to meet new people who could help me express myself and be there with me when I found my way through the world. Like home.
There is so much to this life, all year long, and it just seems that people become blind to it, that they refuse to stop and realize how good they have it. How good life could be, if only they would take ownership of their actions and words.”
   He breathed a shaky breath, suddenly ashamed of himself for thinking his life a prison, of thinking his warden a jailer.
   “I'm so very sorry. I'm sorry, and I want to go home…”
   Sitting there, his head bowed, his eyes damp with regretful tears, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He started in a panic, the words of explanation all ready to bubble over his dry lips, and turning he saw his warden.
   The heavy man was standing there, a beautiful smile like a ray of glorious winter sunshine on his face, his eyes sparkling warm on the small man in the pew.
   “It is so good to see you safe, my boy”, the big man rumbled, his voice a baritone as rich as freshly turned earth. 
   The small man broke, his tears flowing freely down his face. He wept like the true child he was and the heavyset man pat his shoulder like a father.
   “I understand why you left. I know how you felt like you weren't making a difference, but you were. You do. To bring joy to one person is life's greatest reward.”
   “Yes sir. I'm sorry I quit.”
   “Just remember, when you feel like quitting, think about why you started. You've seen what this world could be like. Make it better.”
   “Yes, Santa.”
   As the small man sniffed loudly and rose to his feet, Saint Nicholas hugged him fiercely and laughed. He draped one large arm over the small man's slim shoulder, and with his free hand, touched the side of his nose and they were gone.
   The interior of the church became quiet once more, the noise from the outside world seeming to just be a little further away, and there was the smell of ginger in the air.



Merry Christmas (early)!!!
Hope you liked this, let me know. If you hate this, let me know!
I value your opinion.
J