The coldest nostalgic feeling of the year again. The chinging of bells. The 'oho ho ho' voice of Satan echoed repeatedly. The careful but lazy banging of the alarm clock came along and then a yawn. A tired one. One that preferred the clock to shut up forever. She used the back of her palms to whine her eyes.
The night felt like the shortest. She drew the duvet over herself, there was this urge to keep put and not to make a move. She kept her eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling slowly, and repeatedly.
"Oh… the sweet smell of Christmas." She whispered.
Last Christmas she was working shifts from shifts, she didn't even get to spend the eve with her family. What a miracle? She sighed. It's been years, after her Father's death, she lost the memory of what a Christmas morning felt like.
