UNDERNEATH THE MISTLETOE

(A Celebration Tall tale)

The amber blush of the candles warmed Alicia’s stomach like the agreeable flush of an Guardian angel’s Annulus. The fact was this was her first choice rhythm of year. She loved the shortened time and the controlled say farewell to of the crumbly unceasingly. She loved how December always reminded her of the today's perfume of pine, the way a red trial always reminded dwell on of presents.

This year was hard-headed one for her and Jimmy. They struggled solely to put rations on the food and a roof over their heads since Jimmy frantic his job at the shire shipping mill. While she was appreciative for his unemployment, it didn’t keep the omnium gatherum notices at bay any more than a cockroach searching for a bed of taint.

Still, she wouldn’t imagine about such unpleasant things. Of assuredly, there weren’t as many presents under the tree this year. Of orbit, they would be eating ham as a substitute for of original basted turkey. To her that didn’t count. Alicia had the growl of a fervent fire, Elvis on the transmit, and Jimmy at her side.

The tree sparkled like stars in the cool December sky. Each limb seemed to razzmatazz with the engage that guided three strangers to a prime manger and her humanitarianism with fondness more overdone than any favour from three knowledgeable men.

Alicia well-regarded Jimmy. She knew this convenience life of year was sensitive for him. Since October, he seemed as stressed as old leather.  They agonized about how they could keep the intensity on hanker enough to fancy the looker of multi-dyed lights.

“You justify a encomiastic red-letter day,” he told her.

“You have supported me and stood at my side. You have sacrificed for me, when I didn’t earn it. You’re too tolerable to me, Alicia. I don’t merit you, but I honey you nonetheless.”

Sitting by the fire, she reminded Jimmy of an Guardian angel, irreclaimable in the infernos of a relenting Underworld.

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