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Even though I had walked the route a hundred times before, the blinding force of the snow storm made me question each step.

‘You should just apply. They’d be lucky to have you, there’s no way they’d turn you down!’ Ellie fought to be heard over the storm. The dislocated quality of her voice was disconcerting, emerging - muffled - from beneath layers of knitted insulation.

‘There’s no way they would want me!’ I yelled back, almost laughing at the extent of her naivety. ‘Besides, I’m not even sure that’s really what I want to do.’

Ellie frowned. ‘You must have some idea what you’re going to do though, right?’

I shrugged irritably and returned my focus to trying to put one foot in front of the other. It was like everyone expected me to have already planned out my future. The idea seemed especially ludicrous in that moment, as I could barely even make out my next step on the endless concrete.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Ellie slowed as we reached a turning point in the road. I smiled unconvincingly and she waved as we turned down opposite paths.

It doesn’t matter anyway, I thought. Whatever happened, I would just end up back here, living the same dreary life. I trudged through the carpet of squelching leaves which muddied the ground, threatening to suck me down. Warped trees twist and curl their way towards me, their branches barren of leaves. Even they seemed to shiver against the fierce, biting cold. I blinked furiously and struggled on against the barrage of winds and sleet and snow, desperate to reach home. Black clouds rumbled overhead casting shadow over the streets so that even the streetlights were smothered in a grim bleakness, as if to prove my point.

I was almost glad of the snow even as it drowned my shoes and froze my fingers on the door handle. At least it blurred the festive lights which adorned the path to my house. I sighed at how taken in my family were by the commercial trap of Christmas. With a shake of my head, I climbed the stairs to my room where I had shut out any sign of the facade.

Pressing the power button to awaken my laptop from sleep mode, I slipped back into my bed, reverting to my usual position. The screen flickered to life revealing the same application form I had been staring at before I left that morning. That I had been staring at the night before and then night before that, too. And still the blank page sent shivers of fear through me. My fingers hovered and hesitated and froze, useless, over the keyboard.

Whatever, I thought finally. I would never get in, I knew, but at least applying would stop everyone badgering me. Still, though, the blank glare of the page fixed upon me.

A tentative knock on my door snapped me from the trance.

‘Hey,’ my mum greeted me distractedly, peering around the edge of the door. ‘Did you find those papers I asked about?’

‘I’ll look for them now,’ I promised with a dutiful smile which collapsed the moment she was out of sight. I slid from the bed with another disdainful glance at the form before crossing the room in two steps.

Glad of the distraction, I rifled thoughtlessly through stacks of documents and discarded pages until one slipped from the pile. An envelope, the sight of which nudged at a memory that had been almost lost at the edge of my mind.

---

A young girl sat on threadbare carpet, working intently on creating cards with individual designs which she knew her family would love opening on Christmas day. She giggled and sang imagining their delight. Carefully, she tucked each one into its envelope and hid them away so that they wouldn’t be discovered.

A few days later, she danced through the door, bright Christmas songs swimming up the stairs to her ears, warming every room with its touch. The echoes of conversation and laughter stretch the corners of her mouth wide into an involuntary, contented smile. But the grin slips as she finds empty space where the cards should be. Her expression clouds further and further as she searches with increasing desperation until finally, she throws herself onto her bed. The stocking at her feet waits to be filled with gifts in only a few hours but it can’t break her downcast mood.

The sounds of joy from downstairs only deepen the knot in her stomach. She couldn’t ask anybody for help without ruining the surprise. She had failed.

In a final, desperate attempt, she grabbed a notebook and pen from her bedside table and scribbled a message to the only person she could think of who could help. Somebody she was even sure was real.

‘If you can help me,’ she wrote ‘I will know for sure that you’re real. I’ll believe that anything can happen!’.

---

Tentatively, I reach for the shining, smooth sheet of paper. Dog eared and faded it may be, but it seems to shimmer all the same. With the jubilant expectation, the hopes and dreams of a boundless child.

Red, elegant cursive decorates the page with eloquent words. A kind greeting, wishes for a merry Christmas. And best of all, a decade ago on Christmas day, the letter had sat atop a neat pile of envelopes. Her cards. And she had presented them to her family with pride and joy. And she had silently thanked Santa Claus for helping her.

My fingers brush the biro indents. The magic that existed then is still alive. The joy in the laughter and music and family still flutters on the air.

The girl’s ears echoed with promises that she could do anything.

‘You can do anything,’ I whisper back to her through this warped channel of time. My eyes shine with rejuvenated possibility.

The blank page draws me in now, offering opportunity, promise, freedom.

I still can do anything.