This is my attempt to warm up my writing skills on a cold Christmas night. Merry Christmas everyone, wherever you may be!
Qc.
***
The night before Christmas was like any other night.
Quite a bit chillier than the darkshines of summer, and brisker than autumn’s ruffled hair, but it was dark and coccooning, as night should be.
In the orange fires of sodium and tungsten, a man walked home. He weaved his way around the crawling ice and slicks of drunkards, wending his way to the suburbs, the quiet between the houses.
It was almost midnight, but Jack was too old to believe in Santa Claus. He rasped his hands together in the biting air and wished he had remembered his gloves. Never mind, he would be home soon.
It didn’t feel much like Christmas to Jack. The counil had cut back on lights this year, and everything seemed a bit more… mediocre than he’d come to expect from the biggest holiday of the year. Maybe it’s because, this year, he would be spending it alone.
That was enough to make his mind fall silent. He let the cold take him as he strode across pavements and tarmac, feeling as numb as his bare skin.
He stopped outside his front door to fumble for his keys when he felt something change. Quiet fell on the houses softly. The cold stopped feeling cold. He looked up.
A single snowflake spiralled and waltzed in the glow of the urban night. Again a child, he caught it on his tongue. A smile slowly blossomed. Jack stood and watched as the clouds disintegrated, shedding icy splinters across the city. His fingers had frozen halfway to the door.
Slowly, he returned his keys to his pocket. Then he turned. He reached for his phone as he headed back towards the main road. Someone must be out tonight. There was fun to be had and times to be shared.
After all, ’twas the night before Christmas and the night was still young.
Quintconsequential. 