Tis a Hopeful Season

It was Christmas Eve 1934. Large snowflakes were gently drifting downward to the streets of Manhattan. The stores were closing early, the sidewalks bustling with last minute shoppers. Albert had been a Macy's Santa going on ten years. He and his wife Katherine had truly epitomized "Mr. and Mrs. Klaus", bringing as much year-round joy to all as they possibly could. They owned a small grocery on Amsterdam, and had provided food to those in need since the crash of '29.

Christmas for Albert was different this year. Dear Katherine had unexpectedly passed away in April. Albert had quickly drifted into depression, and took to the 'drink'. His robust laughter as the children sat on his lap masked an enormously deep sadness.

As he exited the side door of Macy's, he retrieved the flask from his pocket, and took a long draw from the narrow opening. The warmth of the whiskey would keep him warm on his long walk home to the lonely apartment above the store on Amsterdam.

He decided to take a different route home, walking north along busy 5th Ave. As he crossed 53rd he could hear the rich sound of the St. Thomas Church organ accompanied by hundreds of voices inside..."Away in a manger..." A small voice told him to "go inside". So, Albert, the once happy, now sad, white bearded fat man rolled through those church doors...perhaps the right doors at the right time.

This is my Christmas Day installment of the prompted, creative writing exercise, Saturday Centus. The prompt is the bold italicized part.

Peace and blessings, with hopes for better days ahead.

Namaste, jeff c...