Christmas rush

They're coming for me now, this much I know, and my time won't be mine for very much longer. Oh God, forgive me for I never meant any of this to happen. Those damn voices! Never let them win, never give in to them, no matter how loud they become, don't ever, ever let them take over. The streets were swarming with people. Most with no particular place to be, wondering, stopping suddenly - tempted by the wares on display, their sudden halt almost causing a pile-up of bodies of those behind them not expecting this sudden change in pace. People looking in any direction other than the one in which they're walking, making others, making me, swerve and stop, break left and right in order to avoid collision.

God help me, forgive me father for I have sinned, forget me mother for I am your son no more. The voices getting louder and louder "Move!", "Get out of my damn way!", "LOOK WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!", "NO! YOU MOVE!" but the voices aren't heard by anyone but me. If only they could hear them too, then they'd know - they'd be more careful, be more considerate, but no - it's just me.

I couldn't help it - if only I hadn't bought the damn thing, none of this would have happened, could have happened. But it's too late for such wishes, all I have now is this time. This time when everything comes back into focus. Before, when it was happening, they were all shadows and it was I who stood out amongst them as the only real thing. More real than anything, or so it seemed. I was reality, they were mere ghosts orbiting the one true thing. Now it seems that I am the shadow, the ghost, everything I see now is sharper than the real world, the air I breath, the floor on which I stand, the walls that surround me, all real, all intense, all too much, absorbing me, drowning me with their clarity. If only I were dead, a shadow being melted away by the harsh sunlight streaming in, but no - I have things to do, atonement to make, parents' hearts to break.

My hand was so heavy, so heavy. Weighed down by guilt? No, worse than that. Crack!! The knife hit the tiles as my hand eventually released its grip on the cursed thing, the possessed thing that had caused so much pain. It had somehow found its way out of the bag with pictures of snow, and reindeers and a smiling snowman, and found its way back into the warmth, the warmth of strangers, strangers screaming, screaming, but not real - just shadows around the one true reality. Please God let that be true, just shadows, not real people, just ghosts like the voices.

They're here now, I hear them climbing the stairs, I will be gone soon, out of this place and into another. God forgive me, please forgive me. The lock turns. The door opens. My heart beats out a welcome to my visitors, but it's not 'them'. God no, why this? My parents' faces, twisted in shock, their eyes fixed on the knife and the blood, the presents they carried dropping to the floor. The room fades, a merciful greyness shields my eyes and my ears as my body can no longer carry on, falling, falling, and in the distance I hear my mother scream, but I know it's not real, we're all shadows now, and tomorrow we' ll wake and it'll be Christmas and everything will be alright, everything will be alright.