And To All A Good Night [h.s. one shots]

Magnum Opus by _screamingcolor

She wasn't sure where she was going as she led the stampede toward the service desk. A charging lioness, having slunk low through the wild grass stalking her helpless prey. Wind-whisper rustles. Fatal camouflage. She struck, bolting toward the beast in preparation for the kill, only to be outsmarted, again, watching forlorn, and hungry, as the meal slipped past the stretch of her claws. She stood and waited, taking miniscule shuffles forward with every unsatisfied customer before her. Another sad, flustered body wandering aimlessly in search of home. Following mirage lagoons through the clouds until she lands on the doorstep, wrapped with a perfect bow, ready for Santa's arrival.

The day before Christmas Eve, and here she was, overwhelmed with the clack of heels on linoleum, whirring suitcase wheels, and distant echoes of baby cries bouncing off of the walls. Each pinprick of sound piercing into her skin until it scraped against the chalkboard expanse of her bones. The man behind her in line cleared his throat every sixteen seconds, almost exactly. Occasional skips in the pattern that she only hoped signaled the end of the incessant irritation. But, sure enough, sixteen would turn to eighteen, and his throat would continue to rip itself up. A constant, never-ending cycle of earth-shattering noise.

Everyone else around her held judgemental, stoic expressions on their faces, as if they couldn't dare slip into the holiday cheer trying desperately to block out the hustle of the airport. The radio adding a dimension of noise so heavy she could feel the pull against the back of her shoulders. A smile would indicate a contentedness that nobody seemed to have, especially not those wasting away in the ever-growing service desk line. And no one would dare to sing. As though the cliched Christmas spirit formed a bubble around their respective destinations, impenetrable from miles away. She wasn't sure, as she rocked back and forth between two feet, gently swaying to scope the surroundings, that these people would ever smile.

Violet, on the other hand, had smiled all morning. The day before Christmas Eve, and the whole of New Jersey had successfully avoided the winter storm meteorologists had been dreaming up for weeks. Child's play, crafting tales of pirate battles and pixie weddings. She didn't much mind, though, happy, above all, to escape the scaly wrap of snow fixing itself to her boots for at least one more day.

She'd woken up, peering out into her grassy backyard, and immediately rolled out of bed in search of breakfast. With holiday music quietly filling the empty spaces of her house, Violet danced herself across the kitchen floor. Arms extended, holding onto stovetop-warmed air as though it was fit to be a dance partner. Occasionally dropping hold to pick up the spatula microphone, singing to an arena of awestruck fans. With pancakes in hand, Violet curled into the corner of the couch, setting up camp with a mug of coffee and a quiet murmur of The Year Without A Santa Claus. The house was soft; cozy. Blankets, and sweaters, and nothing beyond a mouse scratch of noise underneath the droning of the movie.

It was set to be an uneventful day, as she was confident the next few would be. Peaceful, quiet Christmas, with photographs of lost family filling their spots at the dining table. It was never fun celebrating the holidays with the barrage of reminders billboarding your loneliness. A lit marquee with a faulty bulb. The commercials of family together, hugging and laughing. Movies of reunion, and mended relationships, and closeness. Mistletoe kisses. Climbing shoulders to place the coveted star on top of the tree. Wrapping a toy stores worth of presents for every last member of the family. A yearly challenge, but Violet knew how to make herself feel whole.

It had been eons since her parents passed, a combination of old age, and poor health, and genetics. So long ago, in fact, that she wasn't sure that her mother's laugh in her head shared any likeness with the sound that used to leave her lips. Her father's infuriating jingle of coins in his pocket disappearing in the wind. Even the cat followed in their footsteps, systemwide shutdown. Each body; each deep, loving soul, melting away like the slush in the Aldi parking lot down the street.