12 Days of Ramenzo

holiday salvation

The streets are bustling with last-minute shoppers hurrying to find Christmas gifts. They rush by, single-mindedly determined towards their objective, but Ramen, having none, finds himself wandering aimlessly, lost in the tide.

The music faintly emanating through open shop doors is just as mocking as the jolly animatronics grinning at him through the windows. A seven-foot-tall Santa Claus turns, gears whirring softly, and offers him a hearty "ho ho ho!" to which Ramen barely lifts his eyes. Usually he's the one spreading superficial holiday spirit, but he doesn't feel like it this year.

A girl pokes him, offering a small candy cane from her collection, doubtlessly giving away treats to share the joy, and he accepts one with a small smile. The corners of his mouth drop again the moment he steps away from the square.

At least the wind blows cooler here, and while the lights around rooftops twinkle on, there's no cheery music to patronize his gloom. His fingers grow numb from the cold as he walks, and he briefly considers waiting for a bus, then remembers he doesn't have the money for that anymore.

Not when he lost his job on Christmas Eve.

Though, he reasons it could be worse, as he continues to walk. His body is well-functioning, better than many others he knows, and he hasn't had to go to the hospital in years. He has waterproof boots, which is an improvement from last year's perpetually wet socks. His jacket is nearly worn out but it keeps hypothermia at bay. He has a warm apartment to go back to...when he finally gets there.

Something about the distance from home to work feels exponentially longer this evening, compared to the ones he remembers. He isn't usually this tired, but he supposes that's a side-effect of the disappointment, and result of all the extra shifts he'd been putting in the past month.

He finally steps into the apartment, stamping his feet tiredly to shake the snow off of them, and following the stairs and hallway to his apartment door by muscle memory alone. His fingers close around the key and insert it to the lock out of habit, twisting it, then turning the doorknob.

It doesn't open.

Ramen tries again, and it's then that he finally snaps to attention and realizes the door is jammed. He yanks out his key, but it catches midway, and he finds himself tugging at it to try to get it loose.

He smacks his head once against the door, exhausted and exasperated, and paper rustles around the impact of his forehead. He pauses, leaning back, and discovers the piece of paper affixed to his apartment door.

The words "EVICTION NOTICE" stand out and catch his attention immediately, and he quickly scans the rest of the page, starting to panic. He's locked out of his own apartment - the landlord must have changed the locks while he was gone - and he's going to have to contact him directly if he wants his stuff back.

Ramen rips the paper off the door and crushes it in his hand, slamming his head against the door twice in frustration, then rests his pounding forehead against the wood, forcing himself to relax.

He tries to remember how many times he missed rent, and finds his mind drawing a blank. Between adding extra shifts to his schedule for Thanksgiving, Black Friday, last-minute slots he took up only for the extra pay, only to end up being laid off, he barely had time to think about anything else.

Ramen gathers his bearings and ditches the door, striding down the hallway and back outside.

The cold air hits his face and at once it's both relieving and infuriating. One bad thing after another, today is just a cursed, cursed day. He tries to figure where he went wrong but logic and rationale are drowned in a wave of anger and spite. Why did this have to happen to him, and now, of all times?