Fiction Friday: I’ll Be Home For Christmas

A small girl woke up in the middle of the night on Christmas day. She carefully crawled over her siblings- the nine year old twins, the tiny two year old brother- on their respective beanbags in their playroom.

She tiptoed down the flights of stairs until she was mostly hidden behind the woodwork banisters of the sitting room that they never used.

Her parents were dancing. They were dancing in the same way, at the same time last year. The lights from the massive Christmas tree sparkled in their eyes. Music was playing from the jukebox, and the small girl watched, breathless, as her parents slowly swayed to it.

She knew the song. They didn’t play it as often as some others, but they made a point to tell the children that it was special.

The girl clutched the “A” charm on her bracelet, feeling a feeling that she would not be able to put words to for years as she watched the tears slide down her parents’ cheeks, and felt her own.

She wouldn’t be able to describe this feeling until long after her parents were dead.

She felt like a dream, and that made her feel all the more real.

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