Merry Christmas Everyone: Cenitopius' Christmas Special

Merry Christmas Everyone is a dark story, written from the point of view of a boy who's been so ruined by his environment, so twisted in the head by all the bad society has done to him, and yet he carries on trying to help the people around him. It's also about a dead family. It's about his girlfriend to whom he can't get closer than 6 feet away because she's six feet under, and a family that rests around her. It's about a man who's trying to freeze himself up in the hopes that the ice will be less fragile than him; who's strong, but weakened; who wants so hard to embrace death, but can't because he'd never be able to face the dead. This is something I started on the 20th of December, 2013. I ran out of gas after Christmas when one too many problems happened and I ended up leaving it behind. I started again this year and still couldn't write it all in time, so we'll see how it gets finished off over time.


3. The 22nd of December

So I don’t know what made this seem like a good idea or anything, but I wanted to get this done now, before New Year’s Day if I can or maybe not. Either way, I felt like it needed doing and here I am. There’s no news, no death and no arguments or fights and no stupid people beating me up, nothing, and I just wanted to get this finished.

Without further befuckery;

Chapter Three: The 22nd of December


            I’d sorted food, but I wasn’t done with the night. By that I mean that the night wasn’t over for me in my head yet, and I felt that just one more thing had to happen before I slept tonight. I had no clue what it was, no idea what it was going to be, but it kept the idea of going to sleep in a dark alleyway somewhere in my mind, but never surfacing, never hitting light.

            I grabbed my coat and my crappy little hat and walked out of the crappy little house and across the crappy little drive. I started in a stride back towards the school – not by intention or choice, but by the fact that it was the place that I’d just come from; it was safe enough as of ten minutes ago, so what could have changed in the last ten minutes? Not enough.

            The muddy, sleeted pathways must have been slippery to other kids, but I’d been clever when it came to footwear – you can sweat all day long in the summer if need be so long as you’re warm and safe in the winter, so I went with boots all year round. Besides, they helped out in any fights I got in. Regardless, I ended up on the same side of the street as the prick that called me out not fifteen minutes ago. I kept a cool head as I walked past him, and he caught my eye for a second. The shitty little smirk that crossed his face for a split second was a warning of sorts in my mind, but I wasn’t sure what to expect from such a little punk as him.

            Cold, hard, compact snow hit me sharply, a clean shot across my unprotected face. The water trickles down my shirt as I stagger from the blow on three limbs. My mind was cold and dead for a second, and on reboot it wasn’t happy.

            I could taste blood. Two seconds later, my nickel-studded leather gloves assured so could he.

            Blow after blow rained on him and he fought back with all and anything he could muster, but he’d been joking and I hadn’t. I was serious, and I was hitting him, he realised, with a killer intent.

            “Do you have any fucking idea what this night is for me? Do you even know where I just came from? Do you know where I was before that? What I just had to fucking eat? Of course not, you’re not me; you just go around hating me, because you think you’re so much tougher, so much stronger.

            “Well guess what? I’m stronger than you! You didn’t expect it? Well ain’t that just shit? Come on, fight me you son of a whore!” I screamed and screamed, lights turning on across the street as the smilers frowned at my serving myself the justice I deserved. I laid back, self control pissing from my ears as I stared down the little asshole that had pelted me with a stone-filled snowball.

            “How about this; I’ll let you live if you go tell everyone what just happened? I just tore you apart, okay?” I walked away, carrying on up the street with blood slowly trickling out of an ice cold cut under my eye.


            I went back to the school and lay against the walls of the building. I surveyed the damage the shot had done to my face, and got up. There was nothing more serious than a cut that might get infected if it was dirtied any more, but I’d need to wash it out and it wasn’t in a particularly convenient place.

            I leaned up against the glass with my hands, pushing my head against it. The streetlamps gave out just enough light for me to see the reflection of my bruised, bloodied face. My knuckles ached from where the spikes on the gloved had pushed back against them, and I couldn’t think a thought but of what a mess I was.

            I just wanted it to all go away, for the night to be just another night and then to go back to a family that loved me instead of none at all, to be shown some respect from the people around me and for everything else, for me to not be the only one in the world to have gone to hell and back, to have died and come back alive again, to have lost three quarters of a heart, and to have no stomach for anything affordable.

            I turned and walked. I walked straight for the road, to stand where no-one would see me until their bumper knew I was there, and I was ready to do it. I had scars, but none of them were self inflicted, and while I used to starve myself instead of cutting, I can’t turn down even the dog food now.

            I was so close to having it all over with that night, being rid of every rotten second of it, and it would have been the best thing to have happened to me that day. My soul was out there on the road already, but what I didn’t know was that my heart wasn’t.

            I quickly found out that my heart was on the roof with half a mind to jump, and notably wearing a skirt.

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