Snowflakes whirled through the air and covered the ground quickly. Every footprint she made was filled in almost straight away. She stopped, looked back at the faint outlines in the snow and sighed. If only it was that easy to disappear. But this time year, disappearing simply wasn't possible. It was a time of giving, and a time of family, so everyone you least wanted to see crawled out of the woodwork and harassed you, hoping that the thin ties of blood would buy them a bottle of holiday spirit.
In case these grim thoughts weren't a dead giveaway, Ava Mason was in a mood as bitter as the winter weather. Why? Because she was making the cold, dull trek 'home' for a family Christmas. Complete with party hats, her mother's cooking and that damn 'festive hits' C.D that her ever-cheerful aunt insisted on whipping out every year and singing along to. And her brother would have decorated his room with far too much tinsel. She could picture the wreath on the front door now, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the turkey. Her sister would be fussing by now, trying to make sure all the presents underneath the tree were neatly arranged and that none of the napkins were folded 'the wrong way.' It would be so bright and noisy, with everyone doing their favourite Christmas jobs, bustling around trying to make it jolly.
And he would be there, of course. Waiting. Smiling. Cracking jokes with her father and asking playfully if it was 'too early' to open a crate of beer. He'd probably got that stupid festive jumper on, and he had almost definitely bought her a gift she wouldn't want to open. The last two year's presents, dutifully forwarded with a guilt-inducing note from her mother after she failed to attend the parties, were still at the bottom of her wardrobe, unopened. But this year, she was going. Because every year, it was a choice between her family and him. And every year, she sat alone in her flat on Christmas day and thought of her father's face falling when he realised she wasn't going to make it. Again. Every year, the bag of gifts would appear on her doorstep a few days later, and she'd read the note about how great the party was, how much better it would have been if she was there, and feel like a monster all over again.
She started walking once more, kicking up some of the top layer of the snow as she did so. It was his stupid fault, not hers. Why did they still invite him, every year? Why did he still turn up, just to piss her off? She kicked up some more snow.
"Hey, what did I ever do to you?" A voice by her ear.
"HOL— You scared me!" She spun around and glared at ... An angel, apparently. Not the literal, hundreds of eyes, flames and wings type, the gorgeous, renaissance painting kind. Eyes as blue as a frozen lake, perfect tan in the middle of winter, headful of blonde curls, all that jazz.
Feeling her face turn red, she watched them smile, revealing dazzling white teeth. "Apparently so. And you kicked the snow up onto me, so we're even, surely?" Even their voice was perfect. It was hard not to melt into it. But she had to stand her ground.
"I didn't see you! Where did you even come from?" She folded her arms. It was a fair point. She was sure the street had been empty just a few moments ago. Wasn't everyone inside, living it up at some Christmas party?
They shrugged, "Just.... Clearing my head with a little walk. And yourself? I'm sure you have better places to be on a day like today."
"Pretty similar, really. Clearing my head, avoiding my family... They're my 'better place to be'" She mimed the quote marks with a little roll of her eyes.
Apparently her usual tactic of hiding painful truths in humour didn't work with this one. "You don't get on?" They instantly pounced on her comment.
"It's not them, it's..." She sighed. "Never mind. I shouldn't be burdening a stranger with my problems." Why did they even care, anyway? A few moments ago, they had been telling her off for kicking snow about.
