The temperature was like nothing ever.
The freezing chill controlled the streets in the heart of London, making it impossible to get a single ray of sunlight. Most people were in their houses, getting comfortable with cushions in front of the amber glow with a hot cup of tea. But the people who weren't at home were either working or wandering through the streets.
People were wearing probably a thousand kilos of clothing just to keep themselves warm; their teeth wouldn't stop tattering, and they had to keep moving to generate some heat. This left footprints marked in the streets, which were filled with a bunch of snowmen and snow fights.
There was one house at the corner of the street, a house most citizens hated for various reasons. One was that the man who lived there didn't know what cold was. He had the latest technology on the market and wouldn't leave the house unless it was summer again because, for him, his house was like summer.
Today, as usual, the man hadn't left the house. He was wearing khaki bermudas and a shirt with various patterns involving flowers. The man had a very long and crooked nose, with white hair only on the sides of his head, which was why he always wore that Hawaiian hat.
He sat at his big wooden desk, reclining in the chair as if he were on the beach of Miami or Cancun. He really liked those. The man had stacks full of golden coins on his desk. If you decided to count them, you'd probably never finish, but it seemed like he enjoyed it.
The door flew open, and cold wind flooded the house. "Mr. Scrooge," said a little man behind the door, covered in jackets, gloves, hats, and every winter clothing you could find. "I just wanted to ask if you could give us a charity donation. You know, with all the people not having homes and all. It's not for us, it's for them. Please, Mr. Scrooge."
"What did you say?" he snapped.
"We're collecting money for the poor. You know, it's Christmas, and everyone needs to be with family."
Ebenezer Scrooge took a deep breath, trying to inhale as much hot air as possible.
"Is that so? Let me tell you what—Shut the stupid door!" he shouted without compassion. "Don't you see my outfit?"
The little man squeaked and closed the door fast.
Scrooge didn't know why people came to his house to ask for money when they already knew he had none to give. Scrooge was his only employee, his only companion, ever since he had fired his little employee, Cratchit, who wasn't useful enough.
There was also Marley, his dear friend, a partner whom Scrooge thought was probably the best man in the world apart from him. He used to steal from the poor and give to the rich, the flip version of Robin Hood. He made Instagram and Facebook, he had a beautiful wife, and a super wonderful life. Until Mark Zuckenberg stole everything from him: fame, wealth, power. Rest in peace, Marley.
Scrooge didn't like thinking about that. Because of Mark Zuckenberg, he was losing all his fortune. He had to do something. So, he sold his workshop, changed his workplace to his house, stopped buying those delicious burritos at the market—a great sacrifice for Scrooge—and fired his only employee.
Scrooge pushed aside all those thoughts from his head and kept counting the money piled up on his desk. "One thousand ninety-seven," he placed a gold coin on top of the pile. "One thousand ninety-eight," another gold coin onto the pile. "One thousand ninety-nine," another coin to the pile. "And..."
His hand was already on top of the pile, ready to deposit another coin, but something strange happened. A cold gust of wind passed through the room, turning off all the lights and blowing all the money off the desk. The clanking from the coins echoed on the ground.
