A Day To Celebrate.

• Sonya Lam, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2023

The wind was bitter and it blew down the hairs of his back, the snow was rolled out into thick sheets. A hot breath flew high into the sky, the crunch of boots on snow the feeling in his heart filled oh so slowly and it reminded him of home, and him what seemed so long ago.


***
The sky was crystal blue, the sun seeping through the clouds, running through the winding halls past the portraits and the still statues. That feeling grew as he reached that room full of laughter, that room of never-ending happiness. His never-ending anticipation waited to be acknowledged how naïve the boy was. Under that roof and above those hard tiles marbled in reflections always seeming to mock him with that bitter taste of salt.

A table for six was a table for five, he had always wondered if they ate their fill, their fill of that cheering and laughter. The words he waited and waited to hear but his ears were already acclimated to the sound of those laughs, it never came. Happy birthday William. Droplets of water fell from the hot sky, but his eyes were dry. The days seemed to grow quiet the days stretching out far beyond, those familiar faces that seemed so far away. As William grew so did his ‘well’, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his time in this boring old banquet on his own. On that lively table rolling the food on his plate the pages fluttering in the wind keeping William company and keeping the ‘Will’ alive.

The clock parroted through the walls of that looming cage. One after another, birthdays passing and going flickering through the pages, jumping through chapters 8, 9, 10, and 11 through 12 a day worth celebrating… right? Always losing the race, always 4th place, always winning tokens but striving for gold in that precious glass box with silver and bronze not far behind. Did he even deserve 4th place? Did he earn it as the others did? Did they earn the trophies they were given? But those questions always fell on deaf ears.

Still jumping chapters 13,14,15,16 till 17 came and went, the portraits of trophies shining bright in those hollow cages. The ‘will’ was growing but William was still wanting, still waiting, still hungry. The smell of oil made William's head twist into knots but was it the oil? The books signed their fates within their cover. He took a breath under the dim light of the moon. The strike of the matches mimicked into the hallway. The flames danced and sang hymns.

The flame hissed and sizzled when show fall arrived, his tokens melting alongside him swallowing that dry saliva no one was left to be 4th place no one in last place just a ghost with no home.
***

“What a nostalgic feeling” the man standing