The 5th Wave | The Aftermath | ✔️

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Christmas Tradition

THE PARISH FAMILY had a Christmas tradition. Not a religious one. Just a tradition that only the family knew about; like an inside joke between close friends. Every year since the boy was born, the parents would make an effort to continue their newfound tradition.
It all started when the boy was nine-months-old; Christmas Eve. His grandmother was visiting them for the holiday. While his mother baked cookies in the kitchen, and the boy's father was watching television in the bedroom, the boy's grandmother was humming to herself by the fireplace.
Unable to get up and use his legs yet, the boy sat and watched her.

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees . . .
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

Then, as the boy's brain began to memorise the words, he began to sing the song to himself. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it meant something. He was yet to find out.
Then, when the boy's parents entered the room, they saw their son dancing along to his grandmother's song. That night, the boy spoke his first word: Saviour.
So every year, they would bake cookies, sit by the fireplace and sing the song.
They wouldn't do it if a family member was away though. Which happened only once, in the third year of the boy's life. He had just begun preschool and was very mature for his age. That was what his parents told him. Along with all his aunties and uncles, grandmas and grandpas.
So he didn't cry the day when his father had to leave for two weeks when he had gotten a job promotion overseas. But on the day he left, the boy's heart ached painfully without him.
A few times he would come crying to his mother, telling her how much he missed him. She would also reply with: "I know. I miss him too. But don't worry, Daddy will be home soon."
Her calming voice would sooth the boy's pain and fear. Her gentle touch would embrace his infant body and he would relax in her caring arms. Her soft fingers would stroke his hair. She would trace lines through the small creases in his hands.
She would tell the story of how she and his Daddy had met. She would say how much she and Daddy loved him. That they would never let him go. That they would always be with him wherever he was and whatever he was facing.
They would sit for hours, the mother rocking back and forth on the bed, the motion sending the boy to sleep. She would tuck him back into bed and then leave him.
When the boy had exciting news to tell after preschool, he would run inside and shout: "Daddy! Daddy! Today, me and my friends were-", only to be cut off as he realised the empty chair in the lounge room.
Meals would be quieter. Usually his father would tell food jokes during dinner and make the boy laugh until he started spitting his food out. His mum would tell him off but sometimes she would let out a snicker.
In the mornings, when the boy's mother was still asleep, he would go and wake her to take him to preschool and would sigh when he saw the empty half of the bed.
But after dinner, he was always excited. Excited because they would FaceTime him every night and they would say hi. Daddy would talk about everything he did that day and tell the boy that had gotten him another present.
The father would tell him about how friendly the people were there. The boy would long to see and meet them. He would dream about the "overseas" all nights he didn't wake up and cry.
He remembered that Christmas. He and his mother would sit by the fireplace on Christmas Eve and look at old photos. They would laugh whenever his mother told him an entire story coming from one, simple picture.
Then they baked some cookies, the warm, crispy smell of vanilla extract with a hint of Christmas spirit, carrying the feeling of joy through the house, leaking out the windows and out the chimney of soot.
They placed two hot cookies on a plate and a cup of milk next to it.. The boy would also sneak a carrot next to the plate of freshly baked cookies.
"It's for the reindeer." He explained.
Then they called the boy's father and wished him a Merry Christmas. He wished them the same and left.
After talking, they would make their wishes, snuggle into bed together and whisper nice things into each other's ears until they were giggling.
"Go to sleep or Santa won't come." His mother would remind him.
"But I don't want Santa to come. I just want Daddy to come home." He replied getting misty-eyed, thinking about his father.
"He will come back. But even though he is overseas, doesn't mean he can't give you a present now." She said.
"You mean, he could give me a present tomorrow!?"
"Maybe. . . But you have to go to sleep!" She reminded again, poking the boy on the nose.
The next day, the boy received a present. Inside the cardboard box sat a soccer ball. A very common present to others. To the boy, it meant his career path was chosen. When the father returned, they played everyday.
And everyday the boy would improve. He would also improve in his language.
He could say his ABC's in less than two minutes. Every few nights he would perform for his mother and father before he went to sleep. Afterwards, they would clap and cheer.
That clapping and cheering was heard throughout his years growing up. First from his parents. Then from his peers. Then from a crowd. Whenever people cheered, he would hum to himself the hymn that his grandmother used to sing. It was as if the hymn would chain him to his grandmother.
He would hear the hymn all throughout his life. And when The Arrival did come, he let the memory fade into the back of his brain where it was there, but he didn't know.
He had other worries. Sissy. When the earthquakes came, when Sissy's grip was loosening from the boy's. He let go. He let go of her and let her fall from him. And when he ran from her, he ran from his past.
When his parents died, he ran. When the big yellow school buses came, he ran. When Sergeant Reznik began teaching him, he ran. But when he discovered the truth of the arrival of the others, he didn't run, he went back. He faced. He faced the eye of the storm.
Managing to save Nugget was the bravest thing he had ever done. Secretly, he had saved Nugget to avenge his sister. He couldn't save his parents or Sissy, but he could save Nugget.
When he and his crew escaped to the Walker Hotel, he had to keep them safe and sound all the while healing from the bullet wound that Ringer had given him.
And when he needed to leave his duties to save Ringer, Cassie reminded him of his mistake. He didn't like that but he knew it was true. He had been running ever since the beginning and he still was.
He had run from his sister. She died. He had run from his parents. They died. But when he faced to save Ringer, Teacup, Cassie, Poundcake, Dumbo and especially Nugget, he could. He could save them.
Some died. Poundcake. Teacup he hadn't paid attention to, she died. And especially Dumbo. But God had a plan for everybody, Poundcake's plan was to blow himself to Dubuque. Dubuque! Teacup's plan was to catch up to Ringer, get shot, but die so Ringer could live. And finally Dumbo, the kid who saved his life and the lives of many others multiple times. Without Dumbo, none of them would've made it so far.
He knew now. Praying wouldn't work. And running from what you're afraid of wouldn't work. But facing would. Even if he did go down, he would go down strong, not physically, but mentally.
He ran before. He ran and he didn't go back. And he didn't face. But as the alpha male now, he would have to face everyone and everything he came across and protect and preserve the future.
His name was Ben.

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Hi!
This is my first story that I've posted so please, enjoy!
I will post every once in a while. Since this is the first one, I will post another part when I have 50 thousand views. JK! I will post if you guys want me to.
Please leave a comment, tell me what you think, please, enjoy reading! Once again, Enjoy! :)
P.S I recommend you to read 'The 5th Wave' series before continuing with this. There will be spoilers, and maybe some parts that won't make sense. But, it's up to you guys . . . READ IF YOU DARE!!!
DUN DUN DUN . . .

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