Last Christmas

Day 17

He woke with a numb shoulder.

' my shoulder's numb' he said to himself sitting up in his bed, rubbing the area. 'is that normal?'

He swung his legs out of the bed and quickly dressed. He was still tried and was a bit groggy. He rubbed is eyes and showered, hoping to make him feel better, but the slightly too warm water burnt is skin, and he quickly got out regretting the idea.

It was a bad day. He hadn't had one for a while, well ... one to this extent - everyday was a bad day if he was still alive.

He made his way down to the car and drove off, he skipped breakfast not caring about the growl his stomach made when he passed a bakery.

He drove all the way to work, and when he got there, waved everyone off with a shake of his hand, and without saying a word to his assistant, he slammed his office door behind him. She knew this was a bad day.

He kept his door locked all day, and to his surprise no one came to bother him. He silently thanked his assistant for knowing him so well, as he heard her send some one away. He didn't know what he had done to deserve such an amazing assistant and friend as pepper, but whatever he had don had been worth it, he didn't think he would get through a bad day like this one without her.

For some reason he felt anger, anger for the world around him, anger for the imperfect world he was surrounded by, how people could be made rich because of their parents, how those children were in fact just as disadvantaged as the others. Some were poor in money, but others were poor in love, and so both were disadvantaged in different ways. He would have much rather had a loving home than a rich house hold. He had never felt loved - but thought he had a good heart.

HAD.

He didn't anymore. He thought back to all those times were he ignored a homeless person, refused to even acknowledge them, just so he didn't have to give them anything. Even a penny. Looking back he didn't know why he didn't want o t do it. He was a billionaire - it wouldn't have harmed him to be kind. But he was never taught kindness - only greed an success. And he blamed his father for how his life worked out.

But then he remembered how he felt when he handed the bag of biscuits to that man. He looked poorly and desperate, and the one simple act of kindness made him feel so much better, about himself and the world around him. Maybe it was true; maybe one simple act of kindness could make the world a nicer place for everyone. He thought about this, and glanced at the clock. It was late, and he had been in a rage for over 5 hours. The thought of kindness had warmed his cold heart and made him realise it's potential- his potential if he was nicer. The thought made him smile.

His arm was better now, and he had calmed down, feeling the need for a nice cup of coffee.