On the third day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me—
Three French Hens
❆ ❆ ❆
oneshot inspired by 'the gift of the magi'
T H I R D D A Y
Her hands trembled. Shivering from the nervousness of it all. Fingers shaking uncontrollably, she took deep breaths, over and over again, until her chest hurt. Slowly, coins and a dollar slid onto the table, and her mind counted them all. Sixty copper pennies, silver dimes, and a wrinkled dollar lay on the mahogany nightstand.
One dollar and eighty seven cents. One dollar and eighty seven cents, and Christmas Day was tomorrow.
Tears escaped her eyes, and they slowly became red and puffy as she tasted salt in her mouth. Arms vibrating against her will, she closed her eyes, and collapsed on the bed, drained of all hope.
Shirayuki breathed inwardly and outwardly, but nothing could calm her down. Nothing in the world could control what little she had gathered in the entire year, just to buy her husband a gift for Christmas. A simple, measly amount of dirty metal pennies and a crumpled dollar.
And for god's sake, it was Christmas, and with the pay the two were receiving, they could hardly afford a decent pair of shoes. The small apartment they shared was still there because Mr. Obi worked overtime. She couldn't even afford a simple present for Obi, after all he had done to support the pair for the past year. Her gut wrenched, a horrible, guilty feeling overcoming herself, and her long, long apple red hair flowed out of her golden pins and onto the bed beneath her.
She tossed away the pins—they could hardly keep up her unfathomably heavy and long hair anyway. She stroked her locks lovingly, smelling them to calm her beating heart. Obi knew how precious her hair was to her, how much she adored it. It was the one prized possession she had, after all; similar to Obi's valuable golden watch, which all of the upperclassmen envied. She remembered nights of Obi laughing and tickling her stomach, just to get her distracted enough so he could play with her hair; nights when she would tackle him to the ground just to touch his precious watch. It brought so many warm memories in the darkness of their lives.
Shirayuki opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling with determination, a knot in her stomach. She grabbed her old brown coat, dusted with scratches and tears, her threadbare grey scarf, and ancient hat, and headed out the door.
Winter air froze her insides, but she kept walking down the bustling street, feeling the eyes of the rich slowly degrade her. She had the coat for almost a decade, inherited from her grandmother. Scarf found in an abandoned alleyway. Hat bought a couple of years ago in a flea market. She sank her head deeper into her scarf, ignoring the stares, but she couldn't ignore the practical scent of hundred dollar bills in the passerbys' pockets.
Finally finding the shop she was looking for, she rushed into the doors quickly, glad to breathe in warm air. A plump, short shop lady immediately glanced up from her typewriter when she heard the golden bell ring as the double doors opened. Dressed in a large polka-dotted dress and enormous red pointed glasses, she let out a small hmph when she surveyed Shirayuki's attire. The ginger could give less of a damn.
Trying to catch her breath, she cleared her throat and announced,"You're a hair salon, right? Do you buy hair?"
The lady nodded, and left her desk, scanning every detail of Shirayuki's hair—the weight, the texture, the smell. Narrowing her beady eyes, she finally stated,"Yes, I do buy hair. And yours could fetch a good price."
