I was standing by the living room entrance watching. They gathered round her ignoring her instructions to not look when she removed the presents from their hiding place. Usually, they always listen, but, today, their excitement diffused their concern for the consequences of disobeying their mother. Besides, they knew she wouldn’t get grumpy; it was Christmas day. She pulled out three black linen bags from a compartment I had forgotten existed located beneath the stairway. The kids wasted no time in tearing them open whilst shouting. Most of what was inside was from Poundland or other such goldmines for bargain hunters. Nothing in those bags resembled what they had really wanted, but they looked happy. I looked at my wife and smiled. She smiled back, but we were careful to hide the sadness behind our expressions. We hid it quite well, and I was sure our children concealed their disappointment in the same way.
The story behind that week: The above is just a combination of a few ways last year’s Christmas was celebrated by some people I know.
Short Bio: Scott Rowley resides in London and isn’t working on a novel, or a collection of writing. He rarely writes unless he feels he has to, but he enjoys it when he does.