Bad news - my grandfather died last night only a few hours after the release of Chapter One. What irony that he died on the same day as the release of my story in which the main character's family is dead, and the story was called' Merry Christmas Everyone'. Well, that was definitely a surprise, but if I could return it to the store for something else I would.
None the less I plan to release everything on schedule. I will continue to write this on the same plan as before, adding 2 chapters tonight, one or two tomorrow night, one on Christmas and one (or two, provided I don't release one on Christmas) on Boxing day.
I hope that in reading this story you will remember to treasure all you have and all you ever did or will have. I hope that you all treat love as a slice of heaven and that you are treated the same back. I hope that no-one on earth must go through what my protagonist has and will, and that you all live long happy lives as did my Grandfather.
I'd like to make sure that you know that if you are merely confused, you are doing well. I am leaving how this story is set out unknown to you, so as to add to the wonder and mystery of the story.
Without further ado, I present Chapter Two of 'Merry Christmas Everyone - Cenitopius' Christmas Special'.
Chapter Two: The 21st of December
I push open the school's door and walk out in to the chilled air. It's harsh cold slaps my hands and face as the wind blows by. Snow is already blanketing ground but is no longer falling from the sky, and I long to get to get home and rest up. The girl I left crying in the landing is probably still there and I don't see her ride home, but I have no means of travel and I'm definitely not walking with her after that.
I wonder if it could of been handled much better - I could of let her hug me. I could of given her some false hope that I could still fall for her. My heart was absent, though. It was long gone from my control, it had been given long ago and I didn't expect for me to ever be able to give it again. Her feelings were lost on me, so I had to tell her so, didn't I? I certainly wasn't going to date her out of pity.
I take the short way home but make a detour to the corner shop along the way. I walk out with a pack of 'Fondant Sticks' holding one halfway in my mouth while sucking the flavour out of it.
Even though I left the school late, I still get stares from my classmates as I walk down the street in my green-brown jacket and blue scarf, my neck-length hair blowing back in the strong breeze.
One of the idiots from school calls out to me from behind but I pay them no heed. After about a mile of walking I turn right to the crappy drive of my crappy house. I open the door and walk in, closing it loudly behind me. I check the cupboards for the 'dog food' as I call it. Chicken soup - pretty much all I eat, except for the occasional bag of sweets or the traditional dinner for an event.
Bowl. Microwave. Dial. Start. Wait. Stop. Bowl. Spoon. Eat.
I kneel down and put my hands together. I was never religious, it just always seemed respectful. I was in front of my parents' grave after all.
As usual, I talked to them. Just normal things. I told them how school was, and how it was always cold out. I told them what was happening at work, but that wasn't very eventful in all.
I stood and moved across. I walked up between the aisle of headstones to the end of the yard. I knelt down and touched the soil of the grave I had dug myself, by the grave I had captioned myself, over the coffin I had bought myself, containing... Containing the girl I had, and still did, love myself.
"Hey, Sasha. How's it goin'?"
I sit cross legged, one arm wrapped around the tombstone. I open a can of 'Popit!' - her favourite fizzy drink - and take a sip. The frosted can's sweet, cold contents flow down my throat. "Mango." I point out. "Always the best."
I sit at home in front of the fire. I've been told often enough to count my blessings, but living like this in a high-economy country, it's like living in a pond in Africa, I guess. In a way.
Maybe that was a bit too far, with the metaphor. It's more like being a hobo in rural Brazil. Either way.
So my blessings, eh? One; I'm alive. Two; I at least have the dog food. Three; I have schooling. Four; I have a school. Five; I have a roof over my head and clothes to wear.
Yeah, I didn't think it'd be as effective when you can count them all on one hand. My family is dead, I'm in love with a dead woman and a living woman is in love with me. I get bad levels in school, I get ill almost weekly, I have a crappy half-ass job with crappy half-ass pay, and bugger all good friends. Well, I feel so freakin' blessed.
Maybe it was the Popit! but I feel pretty bad right about now. Not a great feeling given the date, time and place. Not a great feeling otherwise either. I sit back on the chair and stay as still as I can. Sometimes the internet is a way to swallow time whole, and sometimes it's a pool of valuable information on how to get to sleep.