Lightning Storm Fiction

prologue: I mentioned Lightning Storm Fiction before, it is what I call the style of writing that lets a story just be written in as little time as possible. What follows is a first draft that I haven't even read over yet. Enjoy!

I remember that Christmas was a time of joy and of giving and togetherness. I remember that while I am walking home in the snow carrying a bottle of Jack and a six pack of PBR. I used to love the idea of Christmas, the toys, the magic of Santa, the thrill of a whole month of music and movies devoted to the one singular holiday. Then I grew up, started to drink, went a little crazy. This Christmas will be a little like any other for me, at least in the last few years. I bought myself a present right after Christmas of last year when I didn't have anything to open up. There is a Christmas tree in my apartment that I never bothered to take down after putting it up three years ago, I wrapped the present and placed it under the tree. It says "From Santa" in big letters. I don't remember what is in there, probably something awesome. I've been waiting all year to open it up. I hope I got myself something nice.

It isn't that I don't have family. And it isn't that I don't have friends. It is more that those family members and those friends don't particularly want to see me at Christmas. I want to fall asleep, pass out actually, tonight and wake to find that I am in a Christmas Carol, or maybe It's A Wonderful Life. Re-learn the real meaning of Christmas. And maybe reconnect with an old girlfriend that I could have married or something like that. I want that to happen, unfortunately it doesn't really seem to work that way in this little world of ours. I will work the graveyard shift on Christmas, I will sit in my chair at the security desk and I will likely not see another living human until the morning when my relief comes in. He will say "Merry Christmas!" I will nod and repeat the sentiment to him. If the 7-11 on the way home is open I will likely say Merry Christmas to the clerk while I purchase my drinks for the day. Then I will get drunk and I will watch whatever movies they are playing on TV and then I will sleep until it is time to go to work again.

This should depress me. It did last year, maybe this year I have such low expectations that I just don't care anymore. Although a part of me still cares. Someone ought to make it a law that you can't get drunk alone on Christmas. I would probably break that law, though. At least in prison I wouldn't be alone. Plenty of people break the law around Christmas. It is the season of giving, it is also the season of breaking into people's homes while they are away at their families homes. Unless it is particularly cold out. Criminals hate the cold, its like their kyrptonite. Well, they hate the heat too, and they hate porch lights, and they hate working, and they often hate themselves. All of those things are also their kyrptonite. In general criminals have a lot of weaknesses.

At least my only weakness is that no one cares about me any more. That isn't a weakness, per say, but it is brought on by the combination of all my weaknesses. Frankly, I think that it is perfectly fair to say that my only weakness is that no one cares about me, because if they did the rest of the weakness could have been worked on by now.

It is Christmas eve today. And I am finally arriving home as I pass by house after house filled with lights and white people in sweaters and children running around getting ready for their day. I have just got off of work. The morning is the only time anyone seems to notice me. My uniform is almost the same as a real police officers. I think that there are a couple of people on this block that think I am a cop. They wave, they smile as they are getting ready to go to work, mentally they thank me for protecting them through the night so that they can wake up with nothing to worry about. I like to think about them thinking those things.

I sit down and turn on the TV and they are playing Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewert wants to kill himself, and by all means he ought to, as he has fucked his life up. Thankfully, for him at least, he is rescued by a sub-par angel trying to get his wings. That would never happen to me, not even an angel would bother to stop me from killing myself.

By the end of the movie I am drunk and some sort of musical Christmas special is coming on. I watch it, not really paying attention, thinking about everything I have ever done wrong in my life and trying to finish the bottle of Jack before noon so that I can get to work on the beer and crash before work. I am thinking of all the women that I have wronged. Not to say that I have done all that much bad to them, I wouldn't call myself a gentleman, but, well, I'm fairly polite. But I would rather be alone than be with them unless we are having sex at that exact moment, and this becomes rather apparent to them after a fairly short period of time. It has been a long time since I've even had the chance to screw up a relationship, though, since I gave up a long time ago when it became apparent that I couldn't get by on boyish good looks anymore. I'm growing whiskers instead of facial hair now, I've got a few wrinkles, my stomach hangs well over my belt. The women I crave have begun to ask me about my Grandchildren. I've never married, I have no children, I am quite alone in this world. There is a sister out there somewhere that I might still be able to call and say hello to if I knew her number. She visited a few months ago. She was worried about me. She saw the evidence of my life in my small apartment and she decided, right then I think, that she need not worry about me anymore. I was called by a life insurance agency shortly after and they said a small policy had been taken out on me by my sister. Just enough to cover funeral costs. Thankfully she is willing to think of these things.

By the time that the music special is over I am fairly hammered, and I have begun to stare more and more at that present. The tree is artificial, the plastic branches decorated with a short string of light bulbs and a half dozen ornaments, a few dozen ornaments lay on the ground around it, having fallen off over the years and never been replaced. The present, however, is very nicely wrapped. I think I must have gone to a store and had them wrap it, I don't remember, I was very likely quite drunk at the time. There is a large bow on it, red with sparkles in it. The wrapping paper is quite shiny as well. I've been staring at it for a year now and it is Christmas eve. Drunkenly I stand from my chair and wander to the tree. I pick it up, I shake it. It's light, really light.

I hesitate, wondering if I shouldn't wait the final day to open it. As a child we always opened up one present Christmas Eve. I see no reason to forsake that tradition now, but I hesitate. I can't open it, my hands are trembling, I'm crying for some reason. I set it back down, delicately, under the tree, and promptly make my way to my bed and pass out.

I wake and go to work. In the morning my relief says "Merry Christmas" and I nod and repeat the sentiment. The 7-11 is open and I say Merry Christmas as I purchase my drinks for the day. I walk home, past white people in sweaters in houses filled with lights and children ripping to shreds the wrapping paper. They are holding presents in their hands and they are all laughing and smiling. I stop for a moment at a house nearby, the father sees me standing out there. He waves to me many mornings, he waves through the window and smiles and I think he is mentally thanking me for keeping him safe through the night. I wave back and I walk to my apartment. I turn on the TV and they are playing a Wonderful Life again. I pour myself a few drinks and then walk to the Christmas tree just as Jimmy Stewert is realizing just how important he really is. This time I am not trembling, I am not worried at all about opening the box. I slide the ribbon off without untieing it. But I rip through the wrapping paper just like the children were doing.

There is just a non-descriptive brown cardboard box. The top has been haphazardly bound together with a few pieces of Scots tape. I pull the lid open and it is filled with tissue paper. I throw the tissue paper out. It appears at first that there is nothing at all in the box, but then I realize that there is a small piece of paper, folded in half, in the corner of the bottom of the box. I pull it out and drop the box to the floor.

I open the piece of paper slowly, not sure what I am expecting it to say, though there is clearly writing on it that I can see through the paper. I have a bit of double vision at this point at it takes me a few tries to actually read what it says, but then it makes sense and suddenly I remember very clearly writing it and putting it in the box. It says;

"If this is still the only present under your tree then it is now time to kill yourself. And don't worry, no bothersome angel is going to try to stop you. Merry Christmas."