That Christmas Morning.

December 24th, 1869, Christmas Eve.

A Chrismas Eve party was hosted at my house and there were a great many variety of foods, including hot meals like pasta, tomato soup, warmed beans, gravy, roast ham, and minced pies, with desserts that included Christmas pudding and cake, loaves of bread with a side of cranberry jam, eggnog, Buche de Noel, gingerbread, two pans of fruitcake, and Christmas cookies.

I filled a big jar with sweets for the children and the little creatures devoured peppermint barks, mini candy canes, bite-sized chocolate fudges, sticky, colourful taffy, and many, many more.

The first part of the party was the Eve Speeches, and my friend, Ava, got up first to make her speech. 

She spoke, ''Oh ho ho ho, Merry Christmas Eve!'' Everyone laughed, for she said those words in a gruff voice and thick nasal sounds as if it were Santa, ''I am very glad to be here and enjoy the fun and festivities with one and all! I am indeed very excited for Christmas morning, yet I love these little parties we throw on Christmas Eve..'' We nodded soberly, ''I thank you,-'' Here she nodded to me, ''I thank you, Lily, for inviting me to the special night.'' I nodded and said, ''You're welcome, Ava..'' And she wrapped up her speech with a funny Christmas joke that made us all laugh heartily.

The speeches went around the circle, (for we were sitting in the form of a circle), and we laughed immensely at the ridiculously jolly jokes. When the Eve Speeches were done, I gathered everyone's attention to me and cleared my throat, ''Ahem, ahem. Now.. Let us eat!'' And everyone clapped for the last time as we stood up and went to the long table, full of food and many ornaments.

Everybody took turns getting plates and stuffing them full, and when we finally took a seat on the wide carpet as a circle once more, we ate and talked, laughed and joked, and our stomachs steadily filled.

We finished eating and we washed our plates then we gathered out for sing-song time.

Among us all, there were many musicians, or, at least some who could play the instruments and have a ghastly voice. Or, the other way around, people who have an angelic voice, but are always out of tune when playing instruments.

Either way, we had a lot of fun singing different songs from different genres. We ended up spending 39 minutes warbling farcical songs, and then we started to talk about light, amicable, and placid topics.

At 10 P.M., everyone started to get ready to go home and so our party ended.

The next morning..

The broomstick made small scratching sounds on the floor as I swept it. 

I am now putting the broom back on its rack and I'm walking downstairs, feeling a bit down, for there is no one at home except me, now. I really wished the fun night could've gone on longer, but, I can't change what the universe said. 

I started to wash the leftover pots, pans, and dishes, and as the soapy suds formed a big bunch on my hands, I turned the tap on and washed it off along with the plates and others. The cold water rushed through the ceramic, making it clean in less than ten seconds, and as I did that over and over again, rinsing the plates one by one, I thought a weirdly interesting thought.

If the clouds are sad, it will rain. If clouds are angry, thunder and lightning fill the sky. So, if it's snowing, what are the clouds feeling? With that curious insight in my mind, I rinsed my hands and walked to the window across the room.

The sky was a blurry white, and the ground was a reflection of it. Thick snow lay on the road and sidewalks, and trees were wearing thick coats of sleet, cars were layered with thick ice flakes. The air was cold, and as I looked through the window, my breath turned into mist in a second, warming up, then cooling down.

On the lawn of a house across from mine, there was a little hard-working boy, shoveling some snow and making a pile of it beside his snowman. He was wearing a blue, furry coat, and a warming hat. On his hands were bulky gloves and he wore solid yellow boots. There was a little fire, kindling to the right of the snowman, somehow surviving the cold.  

The little boy now heaved his shoulders, probably tired, I thought, and sat down on a chunky piece of wood he had placed in front of the fire. He put his hands up to the fire and warmed them. 

Suddenly, a voice called and he jumped up, shivering still, and he looked to his window. Through the windowpane was seen a woman with rosy cheeks and a sweet smile, her hands were waving to the little boy, and her thick, chestnut hair was bundled up into a messy bun.

The boy nodded to his mother and went in, and they went to the dining room, for I saw, through another window. They sat down to eat and not long after, the boy's father entered the room with arms stretched out wide, smiling a satisfied smile. The boy jumped off his seat, and ran to his father, hugging him tight. 

After the charming embrace, the boy's father sat down and they began to eat with such a contented air that I was all of a sudden feeling so very grateful, for their meal existed only of a fresh loaf of bread, a small chicken, some lightly-seasoned vegetables. They also had a modest chocolate cake, and I could see, after a good look around the room, that their kitchen cupboards were old and dilapidated.

How happy it is, to have a family, even in times of hardship and struggle, in times of deprivation and scuffles, this little family sat down to a happy-hearted modest meal on Christmas Morning.

I missed my own parents and my heart ached for them as I wiped a tear off my cheek, remembering the car accident in which my parents were killed. My heart ached and ached but it was finally put at peace when I saw that little family opening their self-effacing Christmas presents as the young boy exclaimed little squeals of joy and surprise, and the parents beamed upon him, as though he was the brightest little ray of sunshine they have ever seen.

Goodbye Father, Goodbye Mother, Happy Christmas.