A Christmas Tragedy

“Casey, its time to wake up.”

Casey’s head shot off the pillow and the light flooding through a window blinded him.
“What time is it?!” he exclaimed as he leapt out of his bed and tripped on clothes and junk strewn on his floor.

Superhero posters hung on the walls, and a desk was littered with first grade schoolwork abandoned a week before. A pair of glasses sat on his dresser beside his bed. A chalkboard hung on his doorknob that said, “one day till Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas!” Casey’s Mom laughed and moved out of the way as Casey darted to his chalk board and scribbled a big zero.

“But its light out, in Montana, in winter!” Casey blinked as he opened his shades, “what time is it?”

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

“What!”

Casey scrambled for his glasses and realized his alarm clock wasn’t working. “The electricity is out?” he gasped, “but…how’re we going to have Christmas dinner?”

His mother shrugged, “Uncle Sedgwick wants to go to Macdonald’s.”

Casey’s little legs worked harder than they ever had as he exploded out of his room, shot down a hallway, and dashed upstairs. He gaped as he entered the spacious living room. His family always put the TV away during Christmas to make room for the tree, but his Dad and his two uncles hunched around the large screen, oblivious to everything but a bag of microwave popcorn. One of his uncles slapped his leg and laughed at a show’s antics and his Dad spilled Dr. Pepper on the carpet.

“Where’s the tree!” Casey cried as he danced around the living room and looked beneath the couches as though it’d be there.

His father didn’t turn as he laughed, “We decided we’d put it up early…it was either that or we’d miss our favorite show.”

“But…but…” Casey’s lip trembled, “what about the presents?”

Casey’s Dad scratched stubble on his chin and turned long enough to wink at Casey, “We already opened ours; we didn’t want to wake you up though.”

“Then where are my gifts?” Casey held his breath, and his long brown hair fell in his eyes.
Dad turned the popcorn bag up and emptied the last of the greasy kernels into his mouth. He crunched them as he muttered, “we put them over there,” he gestured to the table in the kitchen, “help yourself to the pork rinds we made for breakfast.”

A lump formed in Casey’s throat as he rushed to the kitchen. He noticed for the first time that the table was a cardboard table. A metal chair scraped on the wooden floor as Casey pulled it out and stood on it to see his presences.

Half of them were already unwrapped, and the rest were wrapped in newspaper. Casey studied the little tags on the packages.

“Half of these aren’t even mine!” he wailed.

He slumped against his chair’s back. The seat tipped over. Casey’s tongue stuck to the top of mouth as he toppled through the air. He wanted to move, but his body moved in slow motion as he toppled toward the floor. He hit his head and screamed.


Casey groaned as his Mom shook him gently. The boy shot up and nearly knocked the plate of cinnamon rolls his Mom held.

“Easy!” His Mom laughed as she adjusted her hair.

Casey sat up and looked all around the room. His stocking sat on top of his desk with its contents spread out. He squinted at his clock, put his glasses on, and gasped.

“Its 7:30! It’s not in the afternoon?”

His Mom raised an eyebrow before waving her cinnamon roll’s aroma under his nostrils. “Hurry or there’ll be none left for you.”

She spun on her heels and darted from the room as the oven beeped upstairs. Casey set his feet on the carpet shakily as though he wasn’t sure it would stay beneath him, and then he leapt to his feet and charged upstairs.

The fireplace crackled and the Christmas tree glittered with lights. Gifts nearly escaped beneath the tree’s circumference, and his uncles snuggled a few more packages beneath the tree sheepishly.

A nativity scene over the mantle watched as the family munched on cinnamon rolls and drank orange juice over breakfast.