A Holiday Wish

A young man named David hunkers down in a bunker belonging to a woman, taking shelter from the nuclear fallout behind. He has one Christmas wish for the holiday season...

“So many good people have perished from nuclear war. I wish I could have done something.”

            The elf avidly looked at the portly man. “I feel terrible, Santa. How will we ever give gifts again? Will there be another holiday after this fallout?”

            “I suppose, friend. Survivors litter the world yet in the smallest amounts, and ‘till the universe fades away I will always deliver my presents.”

            “But the jolly and happiness! The winter and snow and Christmas lights! Where will it all go?”

            “That shall remain in the past, unfortunately.”

            The steam from Santa’s coffee rose like open spirits whence a fallout never lived, and for ‘twas a radiant winter in the North Pole, Santa Claus lounged lavishly despite the devastations south of the Earth.  His fireplace glowed with flames of a leisure dance, fading quite slowly as the burning logs blazed into sparse fumes and charcoal.

            “The fallout will not diminish for quite some time, yet I must deliver my gifts. It is almost Christmas Day and I must continue asking the world for their holiday wishes. We will board the sleigh in an hour.”

 

David sat on his bed coldly beside a fair woman. His legs swung restlessly as they glanced over his bugout bag beneath the bed.

            “How long do you think we’ll have to be in here?” she asked.

            “I don’t know. Not forever, I’m sure,” he replied.

            The bunker below which they resided was sectioned like chambers of a confining heart, white in absence, as the whispers of a vibrating silence flowed through its foundation incessantly. Safely underground, their only threat appeared from a shortage of supplies, however with their surplus, the fear of famine would dissipate in a breath.

            It reeked in the bunker as did the world; it was too easy to accuse a lack of ventilation for his constant subtle discomfort.

All the while, they knew their supplies were finite, and until a Christmas should settle upon this perished December’s sorrow, a wish for more food would never be heard.

            “I can’t believe it’s almost a new year. What will 2035 look like?” The woman asked. She looked at an old digital clock, unknowing of its precision.

            “I don’t know.”

            For the old time read late, the woman stood. She was a survivor, strong yet brittle in feminine air, who had once welcomed the lost man into her shelter. Though the world starved, she was complete in a body of energy and shape, leaving him to believe her abundance of food was enough to retain such composure. She said, “I’m heading to sleep. I’m getting tired.”

            “I’ll be up for a little.”

            “Okay.”

            The woman headed into the bathroom adjacent to his bed.

 

Santa Claus descended in his sleigh through the thick clouds of this fallout night; the toxic turbulence rocked both him and his elf perched ardently upon the sleigh, awaiting the sight of ground to behold them. A red glow twisted in the air ahead as if to lure a drifting soul into curse, however it was Rudolph’s nose which guided Santa toward his destination.

Eventually, after terrible clouds had ceased robbing his vision the landscape appeared, limned in fantastic shadow, and Santa made his way to the apocalyptic realm. His enchanted radar located various people from his nice list, and he proceeded diligently.

 

“David?”

            The woman called from the kitchen chamber, her essence drawing nearer through the loudening intervals that called for him.

            David awoke from sleep as she entered the living quarters. “What happened?”

            “I made breakfast.”

            “Uh...it’s seven-thirty A.M.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Why so early?”

            “I just did.”

            David rose and he watched the blurs of morning fatigue diminish into the corners of his eyes. He looked to the woman, to her body which postured a vague delight, and at this he feigned a fatigue to mask his displeasure. David was confused, unamused by the bunker’s smell, and thus prompted to irritably say, “The world’s dead. Why are you rushing?”

            “I don’t know. Are you going to eat?”

            He sighed something of distance and irritation.

            In time, they had settled into the dining space which was a kitchen island. David waited for the woman to finish cooking. He always watched the walls level their lips into an uneasy silence, staring as if sunlight should one day drift across them as they droned.

            “I’m sorry for waking you up so early. I couldn’t really sleep, and I just didn’t have the energy for a quiet room.”

            “It’s fine.”

            The utensils clattered and the tableware jingled. A cup of juice and a plate of food was given to him and to his awe, a piece of cooked meat was in his dish. “Where did the meat come from?”

            “I had some frozen in the storage. But it’s all gone now.”

            “Okay.”

Close together in this gray room, both would sit like vague moonshine three times a day, thoughtless and perched in that darkness of the mind always unseen, always shuddering to that stillness of one’s emotions when life failed to exist.

            The woman finished her food.

            She set her tableware into the sink, planning to clean the dishes later, and then turned merely toward David as he finished his food.

            “You don’t seem fine. Like, you’re confused or something,” she suggested hesitantly.

            “I’m just wondering why this world’s so foul, why it smells, feels, and looks so awful. Why it also reeks in here too.”

            “Wish I had an answer.”

David merely paused. “Can I have more of that juice?” He stood to insinuate he would serve himself.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.” She slipped past him and into the storage room, where she returned and helped him to more refreshments. “Sorry, I just don’t like people using my storage. I’ve had people hunker with me before just to leave with my belongings.”

“That’s understandable.”

She stood from the table and sighed once. Treading to the bathroom, she said, “I’m going to shower.”

            “Okay.”

            She vanished.

 

An insolent pencil of morning light crept upon the clouds, dark and opaque, while Santa Claus rode his sleigh from bunker to shelter, from one stranded civilian to another, taking their wishes of a faintly hopeful Christmas. He was tired, but fatigue and a lethargic morning did not stop him from fulfilling his tasks.

            He approached a deserted, open neighborhood which was stagnant from the death of foliage. He hovered to a derelict house settled on a slope and established his interest on a dot in the hill.

            The reindeer pushed to his destination before the red man halted the sleigh. His enchanted radar detected the presence of a nice person generously below ground, and upon another scrutiny, realized that this dot was the entrance to a bunker.

            Clouds droned like great specters shadowing the Earth, and Santa’s footfalls crinkled in the grass like a melody blending into the depths above.

“Stay with the sleigh. I’ll be right back,” said Santa to the elf.

 

...thud, thud...

David rose from his bed succinctly, alarmed from his ruminations too profound to remember. Thud, thud... the sounds occurred again after a whim of silence, and he glanced toward the bathroom door. There was still the noise of running water, and he knew the woman was still bathing. Rapidly, he dressed in a heavy coat and a gas mask kept beside him. He navigated to the main entrance before hesitating, gazing to it as though a face should then come undone from mystery. He ambled nearer so that his ears pressed against the door.

Thud, thud...is anyone there?

David winced. The voice was melancholy and vain yet urged by an exertion of grace and a comforting softness. Feverish he became, until he pried open the door without breathing.

The light struck him, and a large red figure baffled his eyes. His eyes turned bold in shock, yet the rotund man in red withstood a pleasurable, welcoming gaze.

The red man said, “Hello, friend.”

David was clueless. “What the--who the hell are you?!”

“Ho, ho, who do you think?”

David closed the door behind him, curiously stepped past his guest, and saw a sleigh at rest. “What the hell…”

“Ho, ho, wait a second,” Santa said as he removed his jolly cap. “Listen, I have come from the Arctic to take the world’s Christmas wishes, and as you may know, Christmas is next week. I understand the urgency of survival in these ruins, but it is my responsibility, and forever mine, to deliver the holiday spirit regardless. Please tell me, friend, what is your name?”

“How did you find me? And why aren’t you protecting yourself from this fallout?”

“Ho, ho. I have a magical radar on my sleigh, and I am just about immortal. Your name?” Santa’s voice carried toward David gingerly, in a low tone of invitation and embracement.

“David. I’m David.”

“Hello, David.” Santa Claus held his waist and gripped his belt. He looked to his right and into the blemished sun before starting again, “Believe it or not, David, there are still people on my nice list. And it just so happens that you are one of them. You’re not naughty, are you?”

“I’ve never done any harm.”

“That is why I’ve come to meet you, ho ho. So please, tell me! Anything you want, and I can assure you it will be sitting before your door on Christmas day.” Santa’s smile was graceful and strong.

“...you said anything?”

“Anything for my good people.” His smile grew.

David hesitated, suddenly breathing hard. Something in his mind burned yet his anticipating words were channeled with no fire. He stuttered for a brief moment, his eyes flitting for answers in deceitful clouds, until they caught the bunker door in a glare.

“Is everything alright, David?”

David trembled in fever. “Listen... the woman I live with. If you said anything, then please. Get rid of her. Please! While she’s not here to hear me, take her away on Christmas day!”

Santa Claus’ jubilance faded into a chord of sincerity. His hands still mounted on his flank, his now plaintive eyes wondered at David’s request. “Your companion... you would like her gone?”

“Yes, please! She acts as though I don’t know, but I see it!”

“W-what does she do, David?”

David’s hands trembled at the exertion of his fears suddenly expelling at once. “What I haven’t told her is that I suffer from chronic insomnia. She thinks I’m sleeping but I hear her awful chants at night. She took me in a while ago when I had no shelter. She’s never been like this; I don’t know what happened to her. She’s probably going insane like the many anarchists in this world. She talks to the walls and won’t tell me why the place always reeks. She’s doing things behind my back that I know just enough to realize she’s dangerous. I want to run away but her bunker is all I have! My hands are empty. I’ll die out there by myself.”

“Oh my, David…” Santa paused. “But... you know I can only bring happiness on Christmas day.”

“Mr. Claus, this will cure me of my demons. Please, I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t know what she’ll do to me.”

Santa Claus paused again. “Is she down there right now?”

“Yes.”

“Odd. Because I only detected one nice person under this bunker. She must be naughty.”

David looked back at the bunker one last time and interjected, “You must leave. She’ll see me out here soon. I don’t want her to know about this. You have to go now.”

            “Well, alright then, David.”

            “Will you fulfill my Christmas wish?”

            “Um, I will see what I can do.”

            “Please, Santa. If I shall do something wrong, I beg for your forgiveness. But this woman will do something terrible if nothing happens. Please…”

 

On Christmas Eve, David watched the relative time of this night, and only through the darkness did he truly feel a sense of nighttime overcome his world. The woman slept nearby and drifted into dream while he stared into the ceiling, never fading from the corners to which his eyes scarcely met. His insomnia murmured as the dark bunker resonated in slumber, thus infuriating him, yet it moderated his fears of this woman who had chanted in the dead of night; he could not sleep without knowing what she could do.

            His fears felt irrational, yet they kept him alert. They kept him wondering why the bunker reeked so vilely.

            The woman must have had the keys hidden from view, but David was tired of concerning. He drew a heavy-duty flashlight from his bugout bag and a lock-pick set, standing silently without knowing what to do.

            David crept into the living space, then left into the kitchen, through which he could then access the food storage. He sought after the room, and within the blue corner of the kitchen wall, he found the terrible outline of the storage door. Feeling the doorknob, it was evidently locked, yet his palms continued rubbing the brass. He only heard his breaths and his heart when his flashlight beam passed the darkness.

            David rubbed the door, felt it, and peered through the bottom as if he should unlock it this way. He saw nothing through the tiny slit under the door.

            The lights from behind suddenly lit. David quickly turned to face behind him, and under the bright ceiling light stood the woman. Wearily, she stood frozen with a combat knife, steadily maintaining breaking eye contact. “What are you doing, David?”

            “I’m not a thief, I swear.” David was suppressing his hyperventilation, his sudden surge of heat and sweat, and the numbness of panic.

            “Don’t tell me you’re one of them.”

            “I’m not stealing.” David held his flashlight toward her as though it were a weapon, and the other hand was in the air. He felt panic. “I’m not stealing, I just need to know what the f**k is in the storage. I’m sorry.”

            “What the hell is the matter with you, why? I told you already!”

            “Please, just tell me.”

            “You can’t just sneak around in the middle of the night!”

            “Tell me.”

            “You’re crazy, you’re panicking about a food storage. Sit down, David.”

            “Answer me.”

            “This isolation is getting into your head.”

            “But my senses aren’t lying when it f*****g reeks in here! Rotting, awful stench! What’s in the storage?” David was screaming.

            The woman’s verve suddenly vanished as though she had lost faith. Somber, devoid eyes ogled at David. He stood in place, breathing heavily, glistening in sweat, dreading this silence. He had broken something within her.

The woman drew keys from behind her, tossing it to him. “Find out.”

            David looked at them stupidly, momentarily dumbfounded by the merging of fear and epiphany. Frantically, he unlocked the door while watching her movements. His hands shivered and the knob rattled, soon giving into his fever as it gave into his grip, revealing a light into the storage. The fetor swept his face and he nearly trembled as the pale faces within stared back into David’s light, manipulating him with their eternal gazes flowing like damnations across the night.

            She began moving to him slowly.

            “Stop!” David shouted to no avail, nearly faltering, leaving the key in the doorknob.

            She continued. Spontaneously, David drew his powerful beam straight to her eyes and she winced in distress. At her brief distraction David reacted instinctively, throwing his flashlight onto her head. She stumbled before David lunged above her, the knife leaving her grasp. He secured her arms and distanced the weapon from her. “What the hell do you want?” He screamed.

            “Go to hell!”

            David held her arms so that his knuckles whitened as he dragged her to the storage room. She began yelling at the realization.

            “Let me go!”

            David only drew her further into this dark room, ignoring the stench and the awful round forms beneath his feet. He dropped her arms and quickly kicked her in the stomach, winding this animal in pain as a snake should coil from injury, promptly immobilizing her.

            She screamed until it became savage, wailing and shrieking so that venom would surge from her throat as she shuddered in the final becoming of an animal, a brute of the marauders who poisoned the air in a ruthless passion as David closed the light on this woman.

He locked the door.

 

It was 9:23 A.M., at last in the light of Christmas Day, and the hours passed with her sounds muffled by a distance between the human and savage. David sat alone, terrorized, wondering if Santa would rid of this woman. He wondered if he was deluded and imaginative, or if there had actually been an encounter. He had not the faintest clue, so he returned to his heavy coat and panoramic gas mask...

            David suited up, marching in a disarrayed cadence beyond the forbidden storage room, damning this woman for her brutalities, as he stormed to the bunker’s entrance.

            Audaciously, he left to the sterile glow of morning fallout. With the atmosphere forever unchanged, he stood and briefly observed the landscape. Before him was nothing, and he initially imagined that Santa Claus was never real, but of course he had ignored the wrapped gift at his feet.

            He lifted this box into his hands, wondering what of this woman’s riddance it contained, and removed the lace from the box...

            He peered in expressionlessly.

            There was a large Christmas card, so big as to make the box feel empty.

            He lifted the decorated card and read its contents:

           

            Dear David,

I’m sorry for your troubles. This was hard for me as it may be hard for you. You shall be forgiven when your atonement is heard.

                        Yours truly,

                        Santa Claus.

 

            David removed the large Christmas card and looked to the base of his gift box.

            He saw the silver shining magnificently under the sunlight, connected to the round curve textured for the hand.

            David removed his Christmas gift, holding the pistol in his palm.