December. I am turning five years old (I think). We are having a party for my birthday. My dad rented out part of a resort. Loot bags, each waiting to be taken home by a party guest, stand neatly arranged in rows, like soldiers on a training field. Lots of people have come, but I don’t know who they are. So many people, but I don’t recognize any of the kids. Santa even makes an appearance. He wears a red suit, but isn’t fat or jolly. Dark hairs poke out from under his ill-fitting white beard. And he is smoking.
Nia McCash is an IT professional and a writer from Mississauga, Ontario, Canada. You can find her on Twitter at @niamccashWrites.