Veils of December

For a moment, the Christmas Eve atmosphere felt tangible. It enveloped Mia with an ineffable coldness, lingering in her softly flowing veins and biting lightly at her quivering bones. Soft, dull kisses of falling snowflakes settled in Mia’s brunette hair. She stood clothed only in a knit sweater, blue jeans, and tattered checkered Vans. The streets were pale, anticipating light foot traffic as families gathered in warm brick houses for the holidays.

From across the street, she watched her middle-aged father take a drag from his Camel cigarette. Wisps of smoky menthol mingled with his frosty breath. His hardened face gazed tiredly at the darkening horizon, the aged wrinkles on his skin transparent with grief. He never broke eye contact with the snow-encapsulated neighborhood as Mia approached to greet him.

"I thought you quit smoking, Dad," she said softly. It was a pact they had made together five years ago. They had bonded as he drove her home from rehab—she was young and determined, both promising to quit their vices for good. It had been a sweet celebration over strawberry malted milkshakes. Since then, it has become their secret tradition. She was daddy’s little girl. Yet after two more rehab attempts, her father, Keith, had grown wary of holding onto hope.

Mia pondered this, the thought twisting in her mind and whispering insecurities. She opened her mouth to confront the chill that her father's shoulder gave off when a dingy, paint-chipped sedan rolled to a stop in the driveway.

Her brother, Jason, approached them. His auburn beard was an entangled mess, scruffier than she had ever seen before. He brushed past her to immediately embrace their father in a bear hug—the warmest they had been towards each other in a long time.

“Hey, Dad. Merry Christmas.” Jason rubbed his shoulder tightly, as if to massage away the knot that held all the vaulted emotions inside. Keith's face warped slightly, watery eyes giving way first.

The front door swung open. Deborah, their mother, stood outside the threshold of their toasty home.

"You boys get inside before Jack Frost nips more than your noses! Keith, you better stop with those damn cancer sticks." She then muttered, “Disgusting habit,” before retreating back into the warmth.

With one final, longing drag of his cigarette, their father flicked the butt far into the street—an old hidden talent of his. The three of them followed each other inside.

A Hallmark movie paled in comparison to the eloquent festive interior of Mia’s family home. Porcelain Santas guarded every crevice of every room. Gold-crimson ribbons dangled effortlessly among the ornaments and pine needles of the large 7-foot Christmas tree. Bayberry-Fir votive candles, lit with a warm ambiance, were sparsely decorated to greet newcomers with a lighthearted, kindful cheer. 

Mia slid into the room unnoticed. She sought comfort in her usual seat by the edge of the ivory sunken couch. Her cousins, Jennifer and Zasha, whispered between themselves as they always did. They were sisters—born three years apart yet inseparable. There was a time when it had been the three of them, gossiping and groaning about inner familial affairs. This year felt different, cold and distant. 

The sharp edge of loneliness gutted her, like blades ice skating on her stomach. The living room seemed to darken, deepening into an eclipse by the candlelight. She felt that if she leaned back into the couch, she would fall forever into the night's shadows. 

An angelic brightness named Olivia pattered into the living room. Four years old yet stomping like an elephant in a stampede, her daughter—a young version of her essence—smiled delight at the piled presents. 

“Mommy, I want Mommy!” she declared. 

“I’m right here, Baby,” Mia cooed softly and earnestly as her motherly instinct fought the darkness away from her daughter. She leaned in to pick up Olivia, but in that moment, her daughter was ushered into her grandmother's arms. Boiling bile rose in Mia’s throat. Irritated, she wanted to snap at her mother for overstepping her boundaries. That was her daughter; give her back! But it was Christmas Eve, and she didn't want to disrespect her mother during the holidays. If she did, she’d effectively be wearing black wool and screeching "baa!" She chuckled to herself, relaxing and letting Olivia have precious time with Grandma. It wouldn’t hurt.

“I want mommy!” She cried again. Deborah, juggled the toddler on her knee, trying to distract her. Keith’s face hardened, anger sneaked into his expression, Jason noted this and tried to ease the tension. 

“Olivia! Look at all these gifts! Let's open your presents tonight!” He has always been an exceptionally good peacemaker in the family. His skills were well adapted by the many fights caused by Mia in her teenage era. 

Jason settled beside the bedazzled Christmas Tree, its branches adorned with shimmering lights, gleaming off of Jason’s blushed cheeks. With a warm smile, he presented each gift- meticulously wrapped, one-by-one. Olivia jumped in excitement when she opened her Princess Doll house, its vibrant pink and emerald colors danced in her eyes, singing mermaid tunes at the press of a button. 

Keith received thermal gloves, perfect for when he worked on his truck in the winter’s chill. Jason gifted a whimsical, albeit tacky, kitchen rooster for his mother Deborah, a playful nod to her culinary obsession. Jennifer and Zasha revealed the excitement of the latest social media trends that seemed to flood their feeds. Each day brought new fads—makeup palettes in vibrant colors, stylish purses that twinkled with allure, and every must-have item that their favorite influencers showcased. Each trend is a ticket to a world of glamour and self-expression that they craved to experience firsthand. 

Mia was the last guest remaining, her heart heavy as she sat quietly, waiting for Jason to hand her gift. An air of anticipation surrounded her, yet she felt invisible, with no one having greeted her all evening. Her brother’s face fell upon the small pile of presents isolated under the tree. A red card caught his attention. It read

To: Mia

Love: Santa

Deborah let out a small, quiet sob, the sound barely audible but laden with emotion. It was Keith who first broke the silence, his voice rising to address the unspoken tension that filled the room. 

“I can’t believe you’d do this, Mia! How dare you ruin Christmas! How dare you! How dare you!” he bellowed, leaping from his seat, his anger palpable. Avoiding Mia’s gaze, he stormed over to the Christmas presents and kicked them fiercely. 

“Dad! What the hell?!” Mia shouted back, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. She was ready to unleash her frustration further, but her mother intervened, cutting through the charged atmosphere. 

“Keith! That’s enough!”

Her father just grunted as a muted response to his anger and found his way out the room, golden cigarette box in hand. 

The room fell into silence. Olivia, no longer distracted by toys, felt the urge to ask for her mother once again. Jason gently held his mother's elbow, as if she might shatter, and began to guide them both into the kitchen. Guilt shrouded her face.

“Let’s get started on dinner,” Jason reassured her. The warmth and comfort of food had always been a healer in this family. Jennifer let out a heavy sigh and turned to Zasha, her eyes puffy and red.

“Let’s go smoke first. I need some fresh air.”

“I agree. This is too hard for me,” Zasha said, her voice cracking.

“Can I come too? I can’t believe my father did that… What is his problem?!” Mia injected herself into the conversation. It was a cousinly tradition for the three of them to take a walk together before dinner. With Zasha’s skills in rolling a fat blunt, their outing was the perfect opportunity to share.

Mia had been the first to introduce them to weed, and now that she was older, she had become a more experienced drug user. Fragments of her memories edged together, blurring her vision and darkening the room as her cousins rose from the couch.

Mia remembered the dry taste of her tongue as it licked the garrote wedged between her chapped lips. She pulled tightly, beckoning the trails of her veins to come forth. She found her prize in the soft spot of her inner elbow. Mindful of past needle marks and dodging the prune-colored bruises that bedecked her golden skin, she tipped the sharp edge of euphoria to her flesh. Opioid molecules dawned in the flow of her blood, hacking her consciousness from within and filling her with contentment. She swayed, falling into her goose-feather comforter, her eyelids seduced into a blissful restfulness.

Mia didn’t mind the coldness that crept in, or the childlike hands that shook her chaotically.

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up!” she tuned out the distant shouting. It sounded feeble against the loud, slowing pounds of her heartbeat.

Like a ghost gliding through a forgotten memory, she found herself once more in the living room of her childhood home. Her cousins moved away from her, their laughter distant, unaware of the void they had created by leaving her behind. They were serenely oblivious, neither seeing nor hearing her, as she had become a mere whisper in their lives—lost ever since her own heart had stilled.

Mia sprang from her chair, her fingers clutching wildly at the air, searching for something to anchor her in the dimly lit room. With a tentative step, she felt herself plunging into an abyss, swallowed by an eerie stillness. Black tar oozed around her like a dark tide, creeping up her legs and swallowing her whole. There was no ache, no thrill—just an empty void, a profound silence

It was a darkness that did not retreat in the presence of light; it devoured any detail a shadow could cast. It was decay surrounding her, flooding her mind like a virus, taking her entirely until she was utterly alone in obsidian.