Hey y’all, I hope you’re having a fantastic morning, afternoon, or night wherever you might be. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything on here and I apologize. I’m still waiting for that sign to hit me in the face to tell me what to do haha. There may be a few opportunities coming, but I don’t want to jinx it so I’ll just wait on them. Anyways, I have been cleaning my room lately and for a person who keeps everything, that can only mean trouble :P. I have ran across all sorts of things that bring back so many memories! I have actually ran across a short paper I wrote in High School and so I decided to retype it onto my current laptop, that way I’d have another backup file just in case the paper copy goes missing again. After retyping it, I decided it wasn’t complete and wrote a little bit more, it still may not be complete but its gotta be closer. Since it was a Christmas Story, and Christmas is just around the corner I thought I would share it with you. It’s a masterpiece by any means but it is a nice little short story and I’d love to hear what y’all thought of it once you’re done (in a private message please, I don’t want to be humiliated on Facebook 😦 haha). And since I’m probably not going to be writing after the story, I hope whoever may be reading this have a fantastic day!!! Well without further a due here is my little story.
Christmas Story or Nightmare
Merry Christmas everyone, it is a great time to be alive! Well, I would be saying that but I have a slight problem. I am locked here in this ten by ten cell pacing back and forth, palms sweaty, knees weak, and I am so scared that I cannot sleep. You see, I am scheduled to die by lethal injection in about twelve hours. To help me get through this night I imagine being seven years old, lying in the floor and starring at the skinny little cedar Christmas tree that my father and I had cut. I wish now was more like then, it was a time when I was truly happy, the most beautiful memory I can recall.
The smell of Christmas was all through the house while mother was in the kitchen baking an assortment of cookies. I can still remember sneaking a nibble of each kind she made like peppermint, chocolate chip, peanut butter, vanilla, and my favorite sugar. The taste of each was as if I had traveled to heaven itself and savored the luscious delights. My mother always set aside a plate of special cookies, the best of all, for Santa Claus.
I can hear my bother teasing my sister telling her that Santa is not real, but I knew better. The cookies and milk were always gone, I have pictures of Santa and me on the walls, and besides he is bringing me the best Christmas present ever. This is the year I get my very own bicycle. No more sharing with my brother or sister, I feel so anxious.
As my father staggered in from the frigid winter’s cold night, he put his freezing hand upon my shoulder and told me that it was almost time, only about 11 hours until morning. We turned on our antique rabbit eared television to listen to the weatherman notify us that they could see Santa’s sleigh on their radar, and that he has already left the North Pole. I was so excited to hear that he was coming that I almost forgot to help my family put the final touches on the tree. This is the year that I get to put the majestic angel on the top of the tree.
If only I could stay in the place forever, this was the most beautiful time in my life. My time has come, it is too late, eternal damnation is my fate. All these beautiful thoughts, I must clear my head I know in a few hours that I will be dead….
As each second passes, I am feeling more and more scared. How did I get into this mess, why me, why that poor little kid who just wanted a bike that Christmas end up here? There has to be something, something I can do to get out of this mess. I just want to go back, back to that freezing Christmas Eve. Maybe I should start from the beginning.
My name is Cledus Jacobson. I was born June 5th, 1983 in Smojax, which is a small town in Tennessee, in a little log cabin. I have a hardworking father, a loving mother, and an older sister and brother. We have always gotten along pretty well, I mean as far as family gets along. I was Salutatorian when I graduated Smojax High School and then began working at the Smojax bank in town until I was thirty years old. I have been in Smojax practically my whole life, and honestly, that’s where I should have stayed.
Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. The smiling faces, lights, smell of cookies throughout the house, those little moments that people cherish and talk about for years later, and of course family time. I really miss those times. When I turned thirty I decided to leave my small little town and see the world. For the next two years or so I traveled every state in the United States. I walked some of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, threw a few baseballs at Wrigley Field in Illinois, rode on top of Babe at the Paul Bunyon and Babe the Blue Ox monument in Minnesota, wagered too much in Las Vegas, Nevada, took a picture of the Statue of Liberty in New York, and ended my journey at the Ben and Jerry’s Factory in Vermont tasting the best ice cream on this Earth. It was an amazing trip, and I loved every second of it! It was sadly not as “amazing” when I returned home though. You see, when I went home, there was nothing. There was no house; no hardworking father, loving mother, older brother, or sister, there was absolutely nothing… Well except a man with handcuffs ready to arrest to me.
I was completely frozen with fear and couldn’t believe what I was seeing or well not seeing. I asked the man what has happened to my family, my home, everything, and where are you taking me? All the man said was that I had the right to remain silent and that I would be paying for what I did. What did I do, oh no, do they think I was the cause of all of this? When I got to prison I was asked a million questions, none that they believed the answers to. They did not believe that I was seeing the world for the last two years; no one does that they said. What can I do…? I have now been in prison for eight months, it is Christmas Day, and I am dying in about three hours. It is as cold as that Christmas Eve was when I was seven.
As the time is drawing closer and closer a man with a white beard walks into the room with a big smile on his face. The white bearded man said Merry Christmas Cledus, is there anything I can do for you? I just looked at him with a confused look on my face, not knowing who he was or what he even meant, but I said, “I just want to live sir…” He laughs and says he guesses that times have really changed since a little boy, only seven years old, wanted a bicycle for Christmas. How does he know that I wanted a bike that year? He looks at me, this time very seriously, and says “Cledus, I want you to believe, I want you to close your eyes and believe”. As soon as he said that a cold wind blew through the cell and he disappeared.
Nine minutes and thirty three seconds left until I die. They are now tying me into the chair and getting me ready to be injected, injected for a crime that I did not do. Five minutes and forty two seconds left until I die. They are rubbing alcohol onto my arm, if it is even going to matter if it is sanitary or not. I can see the three drugs they are about to inject me with, the Sodium Thiopental to induce unconsciousness, Pancuronium Bromide to cause muscle paralysis and respiratory arrest, and the final straw Potassium Chloride to stop my heart. Twenty seconds until I die. Everything is flashing in my head from the day I was born, to that shiny new bike I got when I was seven, all the way to that bearded man who mysteriously appeared in my cell. What was it that he said again? With only seven seconds until I die, I closed my eyes, thought of when I was seven again and knew exactly who that bearded man was. I mean the cookies and milk were always gone, I have pictures of him and me on the walls, and besides he is bringing me the best Christmas present ever… again. THE END.