The saddest thing about the holidays is how long one spends thinking, anticipating, and planning for a day that comes and goes with just as much haste and insignificance as any other day.

New Year’s Eve is the last desperate breath for excitement before we suffocate on the reality of a quick return to routine. This past New Year’s Eve was no different for me; a blur of screams and clinking glasses followed by the sound of the door closing behind me as I entered my normal solitude.

In my slightly drunken state I stumbled around the house loosening my tie, hopping out of a pant leg, when his voice with eerie comfort uttered a single word.

“Careful.”

Next to the Christmas Tree, a man with some vague familiarity stood regarding me with a smirk.

“Who … What are you doing here?”

“All this time, and look at you,” he laughed “Still alone, still … here. But, still young and handsome.”

He scanned the room and grimaced as though it brought back some painful memory.

“Who are you?! What do you presume know about me?”

He stepped forward calmly not disturbed by my hysterics.

“It’s January 1st, 2022, Michael. You’re out of time.”

I balked as my nearsighted gaze brought his pale and ragged face into focus.

“No … 100 years… we agreed.”

“…and 100 years have past. Now it’s MY TURN!”

His calmness turned to bitter rage as he wrenched his fist into his chest, pulled out his heart, forced the bloody mess into my mouth and down my throat until my esophagus was sleeved around his entire arm. I felt the pain I hadn’t felt in 100 years as he snapped the cords of my heart and greedily withdrew it leaving me gasping and hoarse on the floor. I saw him gleefully indulge on my heart through my last few glimpses before blacking out.

I woke in a familiar dusty room – who knows how much later. I looked at my crepey hands and immediately scanned the room for a mirror. Then I remembered – I broke it nearly 200 years ago.

I picked my old broken body off the floor and looked out the small circular window. I saw my young handsome self down on the sidewalk carrying my Christmas Tree out to the curb with the strength and vigor of someone who had just had a long 100 year rest.

As I settled into my chair for the next long wait, I made a vow to myself.

“Next time…next time I’ll make it count.”