Page 1 of A Bloody Merry Christmas
1
EZRA HUNTER
I huddled closer to the threadbare blankets wrapped around my thin shoulders. The chilly wind whipped my cheeks, and I buried my face deeper into the material, holding my backpack of prized possessions closer to my chest. I’d found the blanket in a dumpster, but I was warmer than I would be otherwise. I didn’t own much, but the objects in my bag kept me sane while living on the streets, and I needed every little piece of treasure I could find.
Snow fluttered around me, wisps tickling my face, the only skin I had visible to the night air.
I fucking hated the snow.
“Cold tonight, eh, Ezra?” Mrs. Lyle wobbled past me, her weak legs shuffling beneath her frail old body. Her bony hands held on tight to her rickety walker, and various pieces of mismatched clothing hugged her reedy limbs. She’d been on the streets for nearly fifty years, and I’d known her since the first night I’d curled in on myself against a cold doorway on Harper Street. The same night I was thrown out of that doorway andonto the street by a raging old man who didn’t want to see a bum hovering near his home.
I blinked at her. “Freezing, Mrs. Lyle.”
She giggled and moved farther down the street, no doubt heading toward her favorite spot, the one near the patio heaters that belonged to a burger restaurant. Sometimes they kicked her out, and if she didn’t leave, they called the cops. Other times, depending on who was working, they would let her stay and even gave her a meal. I hoped it was one of those nights when they were kind to her.
My belly growled, the hollow pain a feeling I was used to. Christmas was coming, which meant people felt it was their duty to feed the homeless. I’d have to wait a few more weeks before the Christmas spirit hit hard with carols and ho-ho-hoing Santas. For now, like the rest of the year, I dealt with my unbearable hunger.
I didn’t beg for money because I was too proud for that. I preferred to steal and swindle what I could, taking from people who had too much cash anyway.
Tonight was another cold evening on the dangerous streets of New Gothenburg. This was my sixth year here, and I found comfort in the people I knew. An almost family. Across the street lay Miguel, a Vietnam veteran with horrible PTSD. He couldn’t live the normality of his previous life, scared of flashbacks and dreams that led to violence, so he’d left his wife and children behind to protect them.
Farther down, past a small dark alleyway with weeds growing out of it, was Trisha. She was barely eighteen and had been living on the streets since she was fourteen. Her foster father had molested her until she couldn’t take it anymore and she’d packed up her shit and escaped. I applauded her for her bravery.
Then, there was me. Ezra. My history was none of anyone’s fucking business. Not even Mrs. Lyle knew where I came fromand I preferred to keep it that way. Sharing meant opening myself up to people, and that led to being hurt. I couldn’t deal with that pain again, couldn’t handle another blow.
My stomach growled again, and I sighed. Maybe if I went to sleep, I could ignore the pain, but it was too early. Something about tonight had my nerves frazzled. The shadows were darker than usual, the moon nothing more than a blip in the starless sky. The lamps shuddered under the wind as the gale thrashed through the narrow street, the electricity threatening to shut off with every hit the powerlines took.
The night was too loud to sleep anyway.
I shoved to my feet, tugging the blanket more firmly around my shoulders and holding my worn backpack tighter against me as I headed down the sidewalk.
“Where are you going, Ezra?” Miguel shouted from his side, concern in his voice.
I waved him off. “It’s too noisy.”
Miguel said something else, but I didn’t hear him over thewhooshof the wind. I ignored him, heading into a back alleyway and to the street behind. The grocery store I usually frequented was close to a suburban area, and I knew from experience I would find more warmth near cozy little houses and their flickering fires and the deception that came with them. They left their curtains open, lights burning bright, and I always stopped to watch the scenes inside. What I saw either disgusted me or made me jealous, depending on the night.
Families were a lie.
They wanted others to see something that didn’t really exist. Behind the closed doors, there wasn’t laughter or hugs or intriguing stories fathers told children, but while their family was on display to the outside world, they had a role to play.
I played that character once, the kid who looked up to his uncle. I smiled when Gary told me a story or laughed when he made a joke, until I couldn’t take the lies anymore.
I shook my head, pushing aside the memories. It didn’t matter—I’d escaped. I didn’t care about these other families. I glared at them as I lumbered along.
Fuck them.
Fuck them all.
“Hey, you!”
The sharp voice sliced through the freezing air from somewhere behind me, but I pretended I didn’t hear it. I didn’t need to glance that way to hazard a guess at what kind of guy was calling out to me. They were always young, around early twenties, and there was a certain cockiness in their voice. They wanted to be the show-off of their group, the one who made the other college-aged idiots laugh. What was an easier way of doing that than picking on a homeless person?
He grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. I stumbled and my weak knees trembled beneath me. I fell on my ass on the sidewalk, my palms catching my weight and scraping along the cement painfully. The blanket fluttered to the ground, but I didn’t reach for it. I’d been light on my feet once, so nimble that I’d floated across any surface with the grace I’d refined through dance. Now, hunger weakened me. I was a fraction of the person I used to be.
Above me stood a man exactly like I’d imagined. He looked around college age and wore a smug grin on his handsome face. He had his blond hair combed back in a typical jock style and wore a simple chain around his neck. I couldn’t see what was dangling from the necklace because it was tucked into the collar of his salmon pink polo shirt. He also wore a heavy coat, jeans, and light brown boots. Definitely the kind of thing an arrogant college jerk would wear.
Also like I’d expected, two snickering friends shadowed him.
