Breaking Enigma || The Imitation Game

◈ NINETEEN- Christmas With a Twist ◈

Once again dedicated to the beautiful and God damn amazing eleven-ninetyseven and to JustJaelyn for being the most loyal and wonderful reader xx

Also, many apologies for the long wait...

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Christmas has always been my favourite time of year. I loved the warmth of the crackling fire that contrasted with the icy temperatures outside. Although, it was cold this year, there was barely any snow- most of it had melted a few weeks ago. Which, in way, was a good thing, yet a true part of Christmas had been taken out of it this year.

This morning, I had left Bletchley Park at around ten o'clock, just missing Anthony and Carlton, who went home for the day and would be returning either later in the evening. Meanwhile, Hugh, John and Allany would be working and have their fair share of a break later on in the week. They were upset that it couldn't have been Christmas Day, but that's just how things have, unfortunately, worked out. Shifts were always a pain to deal with

At home, my parents, siblings and I were sat in the living room. The wireless was turned on, although no-one was particularly listening to because we were talking and laughing amongst ourselves. The fire was lit, burning away and bringing comforting warmth to the cool room.

My Father, Jack and I were wearing hand-knitted jumpers that Mother had made a couple of months ago. They were cosy, not itchy, which is a massive bonus and the colours were appealing too. Louisa also had one, but she had taken it off because she absolutely despised it. Although, she wouldn't admit it to Mother.

"What is Father Christmas' worst fear?" Dad asked, reading out one of the cracker jokes. They were like his own typical jokes, just that these ones were themed.

"What is his worst fear?" Jack questioned eagerly.

"Claus-trophobia," he replies with a smirk. We all groan, thinking it was a pathetic and cheesy excuse for humour.

"Christmas is wonderful, but the cracker jokes aren't!" I exclaimed.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Mother laughed.

"Come on, they're not that bad. Besides," he picked up another cracker and held it out to me. "There's plenty more to get through."

"If you insist," I say, smiling. We pulled as hard as we could, then hearing a loud 'pop.' Father had the larger half and I had hold of the smaller one, still smiling.

"Please don't read it out," Louisa sighed playfully. "You've told enough jokes, Dad."

"There's no such thing as enough jokes," Father laughed, pulling a piece of paper from inside the cracker and clearing his throat. "What do angry mice send each-other at Christmas?"

He paused as we looked at him expectantly with awkward smiles on our faces. "Cross Mouse Cards," Father finished.

I shook my head. "That's terrible."

"That's actually quite a good one," Louisa laughed, handing Father yet another cracker.

After a short while, I followed Mother into the kitchen where she was cooking. It smelt wonderful and very nostalgic, taking me back in time to when I was younger. Maybe about eight years old or so. It was rather memorable because it was humorous- I was so excited about the Christmas pudding that I slipped over and almost broke my finger. Well, when I say humorous, I can laugh about it now. But at the time it was excruciatingly painful. Whenever I do something wrong or embarrassing, Mother always likes to compare that moment in time, saying 'it could be as bad as the time you fell because Christmas pudding was more important than safety,'
I'm not proud of that and would class it as one of my most humiliating moments.