Modern Ebenezer

Three days after Christmas, Eben sat down to really consider the experience he’d had. The "dream" that had been so realistic that he’d woken up gasping like someone saved from drowning. The way his heart had beaten so wildly in his chest that his heart rate monitor watch had been loudly beeping.

It was so loud and insistent. Now, in the light of three days later, he had to wonder how it hadn’t woken him up. The sound should have been reverberating in the background of that life-changing dream. Should have been a jarring discordance as he visited his past and his future while cringing away from his present. But there had been nothing.

The terror he had felt had been so real. As was the hopelessness and despair as he’d realized that nobody would miss him were he to die.

All he had was his money. The fortune he had made through a lifetime focused solely on his work.

He had no close family and no hobbies. The only times he visited anywhere outside of the city it was for work, and he never stopped to enjoy the scenic views along the way. He worked and he went home. It had been the only life he’d ever known.

When he’d been a child, his parents had been poor. His father had been a laborer and his mother had worked in a laundromat washing other peoples’ clothes. When he was 10, his father had been working at the docks and a broken cable had resulted in his father’s legs being crushed. The settlement money had barely paid for the amputations and the manual wheelchair. Prosthetic legs had been far beyond the family’s reach.

Eben’s mother had had to work harder as his father could no longer work. Her hair had turned prematurely gray and the laughter that had always brought sweetness to her face stopped. She worked so hard that her shoulders began to stoop and her hands got rough and cracked.

She had died young. A small cough had turned into a never-ending wracking cough that had sapped the strength from her bones. She hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep and she had withered away before his eyes.

Eben’s mother had died when he was 12 years old, and then it had fallen to him to provide enough food and money for him and his father. He had begun working for a local street gang, running errands and sweeping floors all night while going to school during the day.

Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t had to work so hard. Would he have been like the other kids in his class, happy and well-fed, secure in the fact that their parents would always be there to take care of them? Would he have grown up coddled, spoiled by knowing he was well-loved and that his life in the future could only get better and better?

He would never know. Because his life had only gotten worse and worse.

His father had died when he was 17 years old. He had worked so hard and long for himself and his father, but in the end his father had died anyway, leaving him behind. Alone.

He had spent the seven months until his 18th birthday pretending that everything was alright, not wanting to end up in foster care. He had studied hard and worked hard and saved enough money that with a small scholarship he was able to work his way through school.

He had gotten a degree, started a business, and when he’d made a success of himself, his mother’s relatives had appeared. Her cousin and his wife. They had entered his life, acting as though they had always been there, and tried to ride his coattails to a good future.

And that was why he had quietly resented them. Because they had only appeared after his mother and father were dead. After he had grown up and no longer needed them, but had become successful enough in life that he could be of use to them.

His "nephew" was a distant relation. But that family still expected that the younger man would be his successor. That he wouldn’t object to them using his good name to climb the social ladder, and at the end of it all, everything that was his would become theirs.

The dream he’d had, it had shown him that there was no one to care if he died. That everything he’d built meant nothing. That strangers would desecrate his grave because their parents would speak badly of him as the boss they hated.

He’d woken up from that dream, desperate to have one good Christmas. He’d given out raises and promised money to help Bob Cratchit pay for his child’s medical treatment. He’d set up employee funds and passed out end of year bonuses. And the smiles and joy he’d received had warmed his heart.

But three days later, he knew that it hadn’t changed anything.

He was still alone in a big house. His mother and father were still gone. And even if crowds of people showed up for his funeral, what did that really mean at the end of the day?

Eben brooded the day away and stayed up late into the night. And when he finally laid down on his bed, he wondered if he would be visited by three ghosts that would tell him everything was going to be all right.

But there were no ghosts. No assurances. No supernatural events that would forever change him and his view of life.

There was just him waking up on the 29th of December to eat a bowl of oatmeal and watch the news. Just him showering and dressing and going to work and living another day as himself: Ebenezer Scrooge. Rich and lonely and growing older every day.

It was up to him to make the changes he wanted to see. Up to him to find the happiness he wanted to live.

He had spent his whole life working hard, depending only on himself. He had strived and strained and here he was, at the top of the world.

It was up to him to find someone else to bring to the mountaintop. It was up to him to alleviate his own loneliness.

He didn’t want to leave everything he’d made to his mother’s relatives. Didn’t want to die knowing they would receive everything he’d fought so hard to earn, taking it as their due, as though he owed them something for never having been there for his family as his mother had worked herself to death and he’d fought everyday to make enough money for him and his father to survive in poverty.

Eben spent the next few days in thought. Then on January 2nd of the new year, he made some phone calls and changed his life.

He’d never thought that he would have children because he’d never had the time to fall in love. There had been a brief moment when he’d thought he’d found someone, but it hadn’t lasted for long. He had resigned himself to being alone.

But now he made a choice.

He adopted three children, each to represent one of the spirits of Christmas. Each to serve as a reminder for what he wanted out of life: hope, joy, and remembrance.

There was nobody to bring him happiness. He had to earn it for himself. So he did.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

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Yellow Raincoat

Staring at a plate of flavored rice wrapped in egg. "So… are these supposed to be the Morton’s Salt Girl?" she asked.

"What?" Bruce asked, looking over. "No, they’re just little rice shapes I made. I thought the egg looked like a yellow raincoat, so I gave them faces. Eat them, they’re delicious."

"You even gave them seaweed hair," she pointed out. "You want me to eat adorable little people! I can’t do that. I’d feel like a cannibal or something."

"They’re rice and egg! It’s only cannibalism if you’re eating your own species. I made these for you. Try them."

Lilah met his expectant gaze and uncertainly picked up her chopsticks. She stared at the oval plate holding twelve egg wrapped rice girls with black sesame eyes, red pepper mouths, and cut seaweed sheet hair. She picked up the one nearest to her and brought it to her mouth, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see the approaching little face as she bit the egg wrapped rice girl in half.

She chewed, swallowed, popped the rest of it in her mouth, and with her mouth full opened her eyes wide to give him a delighted look. "It’s delicious!"

He looked so relieved that she liked the food he’d made that she finally had to understand a truth she’d been avoiding: He had feelings for her. She was important to him. Because he liked her.

She picked up the next nearest rice girl and held it toward his mouth. "Eat with me," she said.

He looked into her eyes as he opened his mouth and let her feed him. They smiled at each other, a delightful tension filling the air around them.

He used his chopsticks to pick up another rice girl, offering it toward her.

He fed her. She fed him. They fed each other. Laughed nervously. Flirted delightedly. Eventually they gave into their passions as she swallowed the last bit of the eleventh rice girl and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him close.

They kissed, tongues mingling, and in tandem they left the dining table to retreat to the living room. They weren’t ready for anything more than this, but there was something nice about sharing kisses and hugs as they twined together on the couch.

---

Behind them, unnoticed, the last rice girl raised her head from the plate, saw that they were gone, and hurriedly climbed to her formless feet. She looked around her, silently mourning her sisters. Then she focused on saving herself.

She didn’t understand what had brought her to life. Didn’t know how long this life was going to last. But she would enjoy every moment of it until the very end.

She awkwardly climbed down from the table, using a chair to help her reach the floor. Then she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her, thinking to herself, "Run run run, as fast as you can!"

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

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Charcoal In the Snow

In times of plenty, people are generous. Happy to share all that they have with family and friends both far and wide. In times of strife, friendships are diminished and only close family takes priority. The generous become stingy and close their eyes to the misery around them.

There had been two years of drought, with burning hot temperatures in the summer, causing the crops to droop and burn. And now, as winter swirled in, white and freezing with cold, people in the village only had enough food for themselves and their families.

It wasn’t cruelty that had them ignoring the child in ragged clothes, it was that they didn’t have the resources to help anyone that wasn’t their own. That’s what they told themselves as they wrapped their coats tighter around themselves and sped their steps as they passed the pathetic figure dressed in rags huddled against the wall of the local mercantile shop.

People went in and out of the shop all day, clutching their bundles of food and necessities. Turning their eyes away from the beggar child. No one deigning to stop and help someone that wasn’t part of their family.

The sky darkened and the temperature dropped even more. Snowflakes swirled down, adding another layer of white to the already snowy street.

Unnoticed, the child fell over. Seeming destined to die ignored and alone. Young life snuffed out too soon.

A father sent out by his wife exited the mercantile shop and nearly stepped on a small hand. "Oh dear, what is this?"

Shocked to see the hand, the man cleared the snow away and was surprised to find a child wearing ragged clothes that were much too thin for the cold. He hesitated barely a heartbeat before scooping the child up in his arms and hurriedly carried him back to his home.

"Wife! Wife! I’ve found a frozen child! Help me to save a life!" he called as he rushed into the house, not even pausing to stomp the snow off his boots.

"What’s this now?" His wife bustled out from the kitchen, her eyes going wide as she saw the unconscious form in his arms. "Oh no. Bring the child over to the couch. I’ll heat some water. You get out of those clothes and boots. First Son! First Son, bring the brown blanket!"

First Son left the rug in front of the fire where he’d been playing with his younger sister and even younger brother and hurried to his parents’ room to get the blanket from the chest at the foot of their bed. The brown blanket was thick and warm, the top embroidered with pink flowers and pale green leaves.

He brought the blanket to the couch where his mother had stripped off the child’s rags and was covering the small body with towels. "He’s so dirty," First Son said. "Are you sure you want to put the blanket on him? He’ll get it dirty."

"We can wash the blanket," his mother said. "We can’t raise the dead. I’ll lift him up and you fold the blanket around him. We need to warm him up before it’s too late."

First Son followed his mother’s instructions, but the frown between his brows never lessened. "Why don’t you wash him? Won’t a hot bath help him the most?"

"He’s been frozen in the cold. If we throw him into a hot bath, the shock might kill him. We’ll warm him up, then bathe him in a while." She settled the blanket around the child, then gently felt his cheeks and forehead. "No fever yet, but he’s likely to fall very ill. A child so young, it’s hard to survive such a chill."

"Mama, is the boy going to die?" Second Son asked, having toddled up when no one noticed.

"Not if we can help it," his mother said. "I’ll go make him some porridge. You keep an eye on him and let me know if he wakes up."

"Yes, Mama."

The family stayed up late into the night, the children insisting on sleeping in front of the fire so they could help their mother and father if needed. And their mother tended to the child on the couch, wiping him clean and feeding porridge into his little mouth.

And the boy survived the night. And the following days. He burned with fever, but with the family’s attentive care he didn’t burn too hot and his brain remained unburnt. And a week later he regained his senses and his curious mind and he joined the family for the rest of the winter.

He played with First Daughter and Second Son. He followed First Son, who he admired greatly. He tried to help with chores though he seemed unfamiliar with the tasks. And altogether he was a sweet child that was grateful to have been saved.

He didn’t speak at first, his silence making the family think that he might be mute, but one day he was playing with First Daughter and spoke his first word. And after that first word, he continued talking, and it turned out he was a smart child with a cute voice.

By the time spring came, the family had begun to see him as being one of them. The siblings saw him as another brother, and the mother and father saw him as another son. Even with the shortages brought about by the last few bad seasons, they started planning how to make a place for him in their lives.

But in the middle of spring strangers came to the village, men and women on horseback, bodies jangling with swords and chainmail. Faces and voices serious as they held up drawings of a missing child.

The missing child that had been living with the family.

It turned out that the boy had been kidnapped and held for ransom. His clothes and identity card had been taken away as he’d been taken far from his home. The clothes had been used as proof that they had the child and a meeting place had been set.

But at some point during the journey to the meet up, one of the kidnappers had given in to unnatural desires and the frightened child had escaped before anything could happen.

Lost and alone in a strange place, knowing he was being pursued by the kidnappers, the child hadn’t dared to tell anyone his identity to ask for help. He could only attempt to make his way home on his own, though he hadn’t been sure of the direction and had gotten lost, ending up in the town after the snows had begun to fall. Unable to speak and ignored by the townspeople, he would have died if the kind father hadn’t stopped to help.

The leader of the guards gave the family a purse full of coin before taking the young master back to his own home, where his mother and father gathered him close and swore they would never let him leave their sight ever again.

And the spring turned to summer turned to winter turned to spring again. And in that following summer, the villager family was greeted by powerful guests in the form of the boy they had saved and his grateful parents.

And in reward for helping a "beggar child" that otherwise would have died, unnoticed and unlamented, they were greatly rewarded. The parents received a gift of money and fertile land. The sons were able to go to school, resulting in futures both hopeful and bright. And First Daughter became a goddaughter of the wealthy family, her schooling paid for and her marriage prospects expanded far beyond the village and the surrounding county.

For showing kindness when they didn’t need to, the family was rewarded far beyond anything they ever could have imagined. But even without the reward, they still would have helped him. Because their kindness went beyond skin deep and was imprinted on their bones. To show graciousness and generosity not just when they had plenty, but also when a single piece of charcoal could keep someone alive in the snow.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

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