The flame of holiday

I hate holidays. The only joy comes from the snowy view outside and the empty road. Behind the wheel, I relax as thoughts gather. My hand instinctively reaches for the glove compartment where cigarettes used to lie. My gaze slides over the passenger seat, holding expensive gift wine I won't even taste. I don't want to tempt myself; alcoholism begins with a sip. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions; let them stay there. I take a mint-flavored gum; menthol envelops my throat, and my ego takes pride in itself.

The journey is not short; windows are already frosted, like my underwear. Provincial habits dictate welcoming the new year in something new, even if it's just underwear. Armed not only with new underwear but also a new image, I spent two hours in the store to look stylish but not extravagant. Fresh manicure pleases the eye, new perfume, and a bold makeup. My ace up my sleeve is a new guy on the cover of a magazine, Mr. December.

In general, I'm on a mission to come, see, and conquer. I don't need to prove anything anymore; as my psychologist says, I've finally become an adult, self-sufficient individual, and I don't care about their opinions. It annoys me that I've become the one who says, 'my psychologist says...' Zen... I'm a calm and balanced person. Deep breath and slow exhale... one, two, three, four, five... Peace.

I park my rented beauty, remembering to return it before flying back home. Snow crunches underfoot; the tastelessly decorated house stands, envied by neighbors. I stand on the porch, preparing to ring the bell... Im taking a deep breath and count... one, two, three, four, five... Peace. My mother opens the door with her cold face and thin lips: 'Oh, there you are. Come in. Is this what you came on?' Her words shrink me, but I hold my ground, smiling in response.

She scrutinizes the wine for a long time; she knows it's expensive but can't muster a 'thank you' and goes to the kitchen. I don't plan to stay overnight, only small talk, dinner, and a quick return. I enter the living room by the fireplace; Grandpa sits there. It feels like he never leaves his chair, getting food delivered every two hours."

Eternity in the armchair by the TV with food – I don't know how that chair hasn't broken yet. But at least he smiles when he sees me. Grandma rushes out of the kitchen, learning the price of the wine, scolding me for spending so much. Another grandma, from my father's side, joins in, yelling at her for yelling at me. I'm home. Aunt crawls out of the bedroom on the second floor: 'Why are you all shouting so early? Finally, you've arrived, now it's clear what all the fuss is about. Saw your little car from the window; did you spend your whole salary renting it?' Deep breath, i am trying to stay calm... one, two, three, four, five... Peace. I smile and say that it didn't cost much. Everything's in place except for my little sister. She arrived in the city before me but asked me to cover for her delay with relatives. Met her ex on the way and partied at his place again, forgetting how she had an abortion for him. Despite her husband waiting at home, the wedding was just two months ago. Teresa is setting the table; she's been with our family since my childhood – my oasis of calm and understanding. I wish all of this would end soon, and I could peacefully lie in my bathtub and cry. Mother decides we shouldn't wait for Magdalena and invites us to the table, as if we were royalty. And then, with a crash, the door opens, and we hear, 'Oh, crap' as our 'little Magdalena' storms in. She brushes the snow off her fur coat, revealing a tight dress underneath that emphasizes all her curves. Mother presses her lips in displeasure at her words, and Aunt hisses at the sight of her figure. To the delight of the person in the armchair, the table is overflowing with food. We haven't seen each other in a hundred years; statues with thin lips are very interested in knowing what's happening in our lives, but she won't ask, of course.

She starts with, 'If you visited more often or at least called, you would know that Grandpa recently had a heart attack.' How did it happen? Why didn't you call? ...we shout in unison... Grandpa continues to chew... 'Do you care about anything other than your career?' asks the marble face, raising an eyebrow. I don't dignify her with an answer. The snake begins to hiss... it seems you've gained weight! So, you're still not married? ... I should have said I have a new boyfriend, but instead, I said I go to the gym every day. How's your 'sweet December'? Saw him on the magazine cover yesterday. My sweet sister threw me a lifeline in this sea of bitterness. Yes, he's lucky; a friend works at the magazine and invited him for a photoshoot. I replied. My sister continued to praise my new passion, while Aunt just hissed and puffed up like a pufferfish. The marble face remained silent, diligently cutting her salad on her plate."

What you're piling on her, the child has just recovered from that incident, things are just settling down, and now you're adding fuel to the fire. This old lady opened her foul mouth, I thought. I wanted to disappear. I've worked through this story with my psychologist; let's not go there," I replied. "They're all charlatans. You're wasting your money on them. Give birth to another, and everything will be fine," said the second old lady. "Therapy helped me; you should try it too," I countered. The marble face smirked. "After such a thing, I would hang myself," hissed the snake. "And no psychologists could help me." "No one would cry if you hung yourself," said the old lady with a smile. "I'll dance on your grave," the snake hissed with a smile. After exchanging pleasantries, they looked at me with pity. With a mouthful, Grandpa mumbled, "Some people just aren't meant to be parents." I was ready to burst with anger... Deep breath and slow exhale... one, two, three, four, five... I dropped my glass on the plate. "How's your ex doing? Still a handsome fellow?" asked my sister. "I saw him recently; he was with a girl much younger than you," the old lady chattered. "Who's better, her ex or your new husband?" asked the marble face of my sister, and my heart stopped. I dropped into my chair, spilling cherry juice to the bottom, and continued my speech. "Dear mother, you're silent. Admit right now that you brought Dad to a heart attack; no heart can withstand so much food and cholesterol. Pride prevents you from admitting that you drove him to gluttony, and due to your weakness, he never once protected me from you." My beloved grandmothers, one of whom grabbed all the wealth my father earned and sits on it like Cerberus, the other realizing all of this is about to burst from anger. Father left all of it to me in the will, but it magically disappeared. Aunt, in her youth, the first beauty, couldn't accept fading beauty and is ready to devour me out of envy. My favorite sister, our little Magdalena, everyone knows about your promiscuity, but I couldn't even imagine that you could cause me such pain. You knew how much I loved my husband and son, but after the accident, I lost my little one, and I couldn't forget him. In my husband's eyes, I saw the blue eyes of my baby boy, and the family fell apart. Instead of supporting me, helping me get through my grief, you blamed me for everything because I was behind the wheel. And now it's time for you to go home to hell. They began to collapse onto the table; the wine suited their taste. They got what they deserved. And now the fire will consume their sinful bodies. The moon had risen outside, and the frost nipped at my nose. Teresa overturned the festive candles, poured oil onto my festive gift to herself, and left through the back door. I waited for her in the car; she sat in the front seat, humming "Jingle bells, jingle bells". At that moment, I laughed for the first time in a long while. P.S. An African proverb says, if the village doesn't give warmth to a child, they will burn it to the ground to warm themselves.

I can describe myself as someone who never misses deadlines. Working with me, you can be confident that you will receive high-quality material within the specified timeframe. I write at night because I believe that the author is most sincere with oneself and readers not during the brightly shining sun.