I won’t be coming home for Christmas

This one is for the Vocal+Assist Facebook group and December prompt, a Hallmark story with a twist.

https://vocal.media/fiction/vocal-assist-s-december-prompt

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Four missed calls from my mom.

“Hi Sweetie, we are so thrilled that you decided to come home for Christmas. I know things haven’t been the best between us but your Father and I are ready to put the past behind us!”

Voicemail 2 : “And don’t worry about Bill, he’s out of town on a work trip for the holiday! Poor Maggie is looking girthy carrying those twins, okay see you soon!”

Voicemail 3 : “Oh, one more thing, are you still vegetarian? I’m making my famous meatloaf, call me back!”

Considering I just currently finished a frozen dinner of processed beef tips, and a cabinet with only Vienna sausages left, no, I wasn’t a vegetarian and hadn’t been in five years.

Snow flurries falling outside the sash windows. The furnace going and my only loyal companion Mr. Mittens, my cat under the night stand where he loves to curl up especially on cold nights.

Sometimes, I can’t afford the power and other times my own food, but I always make sure Mr.Mittens doesn’t go without. Besides, he’s all I have left.

Living in Brooklyn in a 200 sq foot apartment was our new normal.

Rewind to upstate New York where my roots were established, I hadn’t been back in almost five years. My husband left me for the small diner waitress with big tits. And I was left with nothing, just the cat.

Bill was the city attorney. And he had everyone fooled, and flocking. Including my parents.

We had money and everything you could need and more. My family loved Bill and always blamed me if something between us wasn’t right.

Never needing anything, my manicure always filled, and roots kept up, I was the unhappy blonde.

Work in the country was slim, and everyone knew all of your business.

Shortly after we split, I began drinking my sorrows, and then soon after that, began dabbling in pain pills.

Then after the pity wore off from the town residents, I became the city joke. The sad girl who was always drunk.

Stares every time I went out. I couldn’t buy a loaf of bread without judgmental eyes scanning my every move.

Wasted and falling over I knew I didn’t belong here anymore.

We ( the cat and I) started our new life in the city. It was the only place where I could go to escape the shame and indulge in my sorrow- also known as addiction.

Brooklyn, where I was welcome to be myself. The people of Brooklyn embraced me, or shall I say, the men.



I buttoned up my leopard print faux fur coat and grabbed a Marlboro Red, and enhaled deep. Chugging what was left in the bottle on my nightstand, I headed out for work.



Christmas lights on every corner, and street walkers amidst.

“How much?”

“100 firm.”

He motioned me to the passenger seat.



Red lipstick smeared across his face. “How bout a little Christmas spirit and make it fifty darling”.

“How bout a hundred” pulling up my fishnets.



After the red truck, I moved to the blue truck, then green sedan. This is what Christmas colors look like on Sixth and Sutter.

“Red truck, green truck, yellow truck, blue”

The only Dr.Seuss story happening this year.



Next pulling up was a black BMW, and I recognized the model. Flickering his lights, I walked up while he was rolling down his window, counting his hundred dollar bills, immediately my mouth dropped, and I paused midway.

Without even recognizing me in a brunette wig, he looked up.

“Don’t be scared darlin” waving me over.

I opened the car door and took a seat keeping my head down and hands in lap.“How bout I make this a special night for the both of us and give ya two for two? Two hundred for two blo…” stopping in his tracks he recognized the tattoo on my left finger. The one that we got together when we married.

Finally looking up at him, he recognized me and it was as if he saw a ghost. Pulling out my handheld from the inner pocket of my coat, I gently said, “How about, no.”

I pulled the trigger releasing brains all over the dash. I exited the car and returned to my apartment on the 7th floor. I filled the bathtub with hot water and began to write a letter.



“Dear Santa, please take care of Mr.Mittens, I’ve been naughty this year.”

After cleaning up, and smoking my fifth cigarette, I opened the windows and snow flakes scraped my skin.

I made a phone call to my mother.

Leaving a voicemail….

“Hey Mom, I won’t be coming home for Christmas.”

The phone dropped.

And I jumped.