I was working a late shift and fighting drowsiness all the way back home, not to fall asleep behind the driving wheel. It had been raining all day and the streets were all wet, but the night was clear and people were out everywhere. I arrived at the gate after about 45 minutes, and with unbalanced almost clumsy steps I reached the elevator, up to the 5th floor, and managed to finally get inside my apartment.
In my room, undressing, and my mind was wondering about all the piled up work that I still had to finish the following day, the sound of fireworks alarmed me to check the clock on the wall. It was exactly midnight, new year’s eve, and all that was going on in my life at that moment, was me back from work, dead tired, and planning for yet another day of work.
At that moment, a realization hit me; December was over, I had just turned 30, and a new year had just begun. As those three thoughts passed through my head, uninterrupted by the cheery fireworks outside, wistfulness scattered goose bumps all over my weary body. I didn’t want to move to that next year. I didn’t want to leave December. I’d hoped there was any way that I could stop myself from moving with time. If I could just let that new year go, leaving me here, in this December, forever.
I remembered that exact time the year before. I was out watching the fireworks, celebrating and dancing with friends and some complete strangers on the streets. That time last year, at 00:00, I didn’t really have the midnight kiss, but that was only because he was away, serving, yet we were together over the phone and, to me, it was the world. That time last year, I had love, joy, fun, and friends. That time last year, my life was full of life.
And, now, here I am, lying with a background of happy people and a killer urge to smoke a cigarette. I’m not a smoker but, for some bitter reason, my inside is calling for that burning breath of fire.