Warmth By The Fire

the Christmas story of St. Mary guiding a young homeless boy

            A young boy sat against the wall of a small store. He wore tattered clothes, but they appeared to of once been of high quality. His hair was wet from the rain, but the shop canopy allowed him to dry. His blanket was soggy, but not altogether unusable. Nothing was unnecessary for him anymore. If it was there, it was good for something.

 

 He looked up at the sky. It was dark, but the stars still shine bright for him.

 

            The boy traced his hand along his cheek. He felt the roughness of the dirt and dried mud. He felt his fingers bump as it treaded over a scratch or scar. As his hand fell of the edge of his jaw, he tilted his head back to reality.

 

            His cup was empty, so the world’s heart must be empty as well for tonight. He outstretched his shivering hand and grasped the handle of the cup. He silently asked for any change from the common folk that resided in the town. It had become a systematic, everyday thing for him by now.

 

            One young girl walked by holding a grown man’s hand. She tugged the man’s arm and urged him to give the boy money, but he refused. When she insisted, he tightened his grip on her hand and dragged her along.

 

            The boy watched sorrowfully as each person went by. He knew that they saw him from under their umbrellas. He knew that they ignored him. He had learned to ignore them back. He didn’t scold them for leaving him with nothing when they had so much. He never did. His heart might have just been too big, or maybe it was that his stomach was just too empty.

 

            Seeing less and less people walk by was his way of seeing the hour was late. The cup was still bare. He lifted himself with sickly arms and boney legs and trotted into the store that provided his home for the past few hours.

 

            Inside the store was a masterful assortment of things that nobody seemed to care for using anymore, but they still sold to collectors. Usually, the only reason someone came in was to buy some bread from the bakery run as a side business within the antique shop.

 

At the moment, not one customer was there. The only life other than him was the manager. He was a nasty old man with a talent for scaring most potential buyers away. His hair was grey and wiry and his teeth were a distasteful mixture of yellow and black.

 

The manager eyed the boy closely as he stumbled over to the deli counter.

 

“May I please have that one?” the boy asked kindly while pointing to a particular pastry within the counter window.

 

The manager looked at him with utter disgust spread across his face. “You can’t have anything, but you can buy it,” he said. “You don’t look like you have money.” If such a thing was possible, something disarrayed his face further. “You don’t smell like you have money either,” he said.

 

The boy, ignoring the comment, corrected himself. He said, “May I please buy that one?”

 

The manager grunted and bent down to open the cabinet from behind the counter and fetched the bread loaf the boy was pointing to. He placed the bread firmly on the counter and punched a few keys into the cash register, never allowing his sight to leave the boy.

 

The machine let out a ringing noise. The manager took a good while as he came close to the machine to see the numbers with his impaired vision. “That will be nine dollars and fifty cents, and I only take real money boy.”

 

The boy faked that he was reaching into his pocket for a wallet. Realizing he couldn’t drag his lie along any further, he snatched the bread from the counter and ran as fast as he could to the door.

 

The manager must have been expecting it. Despite his old age, he had beaten the boy to the door and wrapped his hands around his neck. He screamed in anger, “I’m gonna teach you to never steal again boy!”

 

The boy grew desperate. He wrenched his jaw downwards and sunk his teeth into the manager’s arm. The sour taste of his oily skin was still in his mouth when he exited the shop away from the manager who was now holding his arm with the opposite hand and howling with anger and pain.

 

The boy had no idea where he was going, but he new he had to get away. He ignored the accusing stares of the people around him. He ignored the burn on his weak legs. He ignored the coldness of the night. He just ran.

 

Once he thought he was far enough away, he settled under another shop’s canopy and bit into the water soaked bread. He felt his cheek again. He remembered the exact place of every cut and the exact memory attached to it. the world would never let him forget.

 

The rain turned to snow as the world transcended deeper into the night. He felt for his blanket, but it wasn’t there. He sighed knowing it was still back at the other shop. The bread was gone, nothing was there to keep him warm, and the day was over. It was time to sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him.

 

The boy tried hopelessly to blink away the tears welling in his eyes. He hadn’t cried yet. He had been living like this for over a month now. he had been strong then and he would be strong now. It was Christmas in one hour.

 

The boy thought about the world. He thought about the way his life used to be. He would wake up and rush under the tree with a jovial grin spread wide across his face. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time now. His mother would hold him and rock him back and forth in her loving embrace as he played with his new toys.

 

Try as he might; now he had his mind set on Mom. He couldn’t get her out of his head. There was no point in resisting the tears now. They were already flowing like rivers from his eyes.

 

He crawled into a ball and lay on the ground. Was he going to die?

 

The boy stayed like that for what felt like an immeasurable amount of time. He couldn’t go on like this forever. Somewhere, in the distance, he heard the clock tower ring. He counted all twelve times. It was Christmas.

 

At that moment, he saw someone walking along the sidewalk coming towards him. In a feeble attempt to hide his sadness, he quickly dried his eyes with his hands and sat himself upright against the wall.

 

As the person came closer, it became easier to distinguish who it was. It was a woman. She had a small infant burrowed in her arms. It appeared so calm. It didn’t cry or move. It was asleep.

 

The woman approached the boy. He tried to hide himself. No one should have to see someone as pitiful as him on a day like today. He turned his head away from the woman and tried to remain perfectly still. But the shaking and the single sob obviously gave his location away.

 

The boy felt something gently touch his chin and turn his head towards it. it was the woman. The lines on her face were loving and kind. They were familiar like a long lost friend. Perhaps she reminded him of his mother.

 

Without a word, the woman made her way back to the sidewalk and continues walking.

 

Curious, the boy followed her. She did not seem to notice.

 

She took many turns and curves and would occasionally stop and nurture the baby still huddled humbly in the bed she had made in her forearms.

 

The woman took a direct and unexpected turn towards a house. The boy ducked in the alleyway to avoid being seen, but he poked one eye from around the corner to watch the woman.

 

She entered the house

 

The boy crept cautiously to the doorstep and knocked lightly three times on the door.

 

The door opened slowly and revealed a beautiful woman, but not the one that he had followed. She still had the same motherly look upon her face though.

 

“Oh dear! Are you out here all alone? Come. Come in,” She offered.

 

The boy stood still.

 

“Please don’t do this to me. If I know that I left a poor little boy out of my doorstep then I’ll never sleep a good night again. Please come in.” The woman held out her hand.

 

The boy hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the invitation. He grasped her hand and entered the house.

 

“D-did you see a woman come in h-here?” the boy asked.

 

“I don’t think so. The only people living here other than me are my two little girls. Here, lay here on the couch”

 

The boy sat on a comfortable spot at the edge of the sofa by a warm fire. He stared at the fire as it danced. Ironically, the fire resembled water more than anything. It waved back and forth in a gentle pattern that soothed his discomfort.

 

The boy gazed out the window to the dark sky above. The stars were still shining for him. They illuminated the world just enough for him to see the figure of a woman standing on the sidewalk with an infant boy in her arms. She was watching over him with a loving smile.

 

 

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Author's Note

I came up with this story in hopes of spreading a bit of christmas cheer. No better way to get into the spirit than to give, but I hve nothing to give but stories

Reviews

[A sea person]

Beautifully well written! This tugs at the heartstings. Thank you for submitting this to my Christmas contest!