Christmas Morning
He awoke on a crisp and cold morning to snowflakes scattered across his bedroom window. He jumped up in his red and white striped pajamas and bounced off his bed. He hoped the loud thump he made as he hit the floor didn’t wake his parents; he wanted to get a sneak peek without their prying eyes watching over him. He slid down the banister, a normally consequential act, but today he felt as though the whole world was his, and to a 7 year old, that is a very big world.
He hit the floor with a more substantially quiet thump; his squishy bunny slippers were fulfilling their purpose. He decided to crawl across the dining room floor in hopes of not being detected, and soon crossed into the deserted living room, where he saw the mountain before him, of ribbon and green wrapping paper. The mountain was illuminated by the monstrous green pine that seemed almost buried by the boxes and bags. He army crawled across the living room, hoping not to fall under fire, ducking under the coffee table and envisioning the enemy following closely behind. Years had passed and every year his plan became foiled, but this year he felt as though he had better tactics to obtain his goal.
Before him was a large red gift bag with a snowman smiling, blue tissue paper bellowing out of the top. His tiny hands reached forward slowly, fingers just barely touching the paper before he heard the loud cries of his younger sister from above. He knew there wasn’t much time so he stretched farther, pulling the ribbon apart just as he heard, “Step back partner,” coming from the doorway. He turned his head to see a pair of moccasin slippers facing him. He knew what was attached to those slippers, and that was what he feared. His visions of being lost to the mountain and surrounded by empty shells of wrapping paper began to dissipate out of his mind; all the time he used to plot this morning had been wasted. Now he would be forced to sit and wait while his sister opened her gifts, and he would be forced to open them slowly, lasting painfully long. When he was 5 the gift opening had lasted a full 2 hours, and in relativity that was a huge portion of his life.
He crawled out from under the coffee table and stood before the 6 foot mass. He dared not to look up and chose to stare at his bunny slippers instead. The dreams of a quiet attack on the mountain of gifts slid out of his mind as quickly as Santa had entered and left them behind.