Billy Batson [One-Shots]

Cold Bites

It was the most joyous time of the year. Children were running around in the streets, dressed in warm overcoats, mittens, and giggles all around. Everyone was happy, anticipating the holiday and the gifts they'd receive from Santa Claus. Well, not everyone was happy. There was one person, who loathed Christmas more than anything. And no, it wasn't Grinch, nor Scrooge. It was Billy Batson, a 12-year-old orphan, living on the streets. Billy has been on his own for as long as he can remember, his parents died when he was young, and he was left an orphan. His uncle, Ebenezer, kicked him out the moment he got his hands on his inheritance, and Billy was left to fend for himself all alone.

Usually, for children, Xmas means joy and happiness, time away from school, the time you can spend with your family, surrounded by loved ones. Nobody loved Billy Batson and he certainly had no family. So he was left, alone, to watch as all other kids dashed around, tucked away safely and warmly in their winter clothes, while he was shivering, clutching at his sides and praying to survive the night.

Making his way towards a small shop, he stepped inside, hearing a bell jingle, announcing his entrance. Ms. Mayberry was a nice lady, probably no older than 40, who worked here and owned this little shop. She sold all types of things, clothes included. Billy has been saving up some money, from doing various little jobs, he was hoping to buy a coat for himself, not to freeze to death.

"Billy!" exclaimed the lady. "Welcome. I'm sorry hun, but they took and grabbed everything already."

Billy's face crumpled, plastering an 'It's-okay' look.

"I managed to hide some warm gloves for you though, here," she spoke putting them on the counter. They were red, with yellow little snowflakes. His favorite colors!

"Holy Moly! Thank you so much, Miss!" exclaimed Billy, practically vibrating with happiness. Putting the money on the counter, he scooped up his new gloves and hastily put them on, sighing from the comfort they brought him.

"You take care, Billy," sadly smiled at him Ms. Mayberry, waving her hand as he left.

Billy shuddered, feeling the ice-cold chill of the winter hitting him in the face, he hugged himself in hopes to warm up and made a beeline towards the darker part of the street. He didn't want to be noticed by anyone. He walked for a while, trying to distract himself from the cold and his clattering teeth.

He had one last stop to make before going back to his place.

Mr. Winterfield was an old man who lived in the back of his shop. He was a pawnbroker and collected some interesting things. Sometimes, he even came in possession of clothes or various accessories. He was his last hope to find something warm. If he was lucky - a coat or a jumper. The T-shirt wasn't cutting it anymore.

Knocking softly on the door, Billy entered the shop, calling out for Mr. Winterfield.

"Over here, Billy," he heard an old raspy voice speak. How did he know it was him? "You are the only one who bothers to knock. Such a polite little boy you are."