I'm standing in a peaceful, wealthy suburb a few miles from Bristol city centre. Without doubt, It's going to be a white Christmas, or rather it is already a white Christmas thanks to a generous amount of snow that has fallen on this Christmas Eve. The quiet, snowy road has a number of luxury cars parked on either side, and on my right and left stand those sort of houses, or should I call them mansions, the whole world would love to own: large, spacious, attractive stone, sloping grey roofs, leafy gardens - front, back and sides, and a broad driveway to park an expensive SUV. If I take a glance through the windows, I can just make out flashing lights from Christmas trees and decorations.
A car pulls up outside a house. A couple get out. They open the boot and in the soft illumination of the street lamps I can see they take out some colourful boxes - Christmas presents. The front door of the house is pushed open. Three children dash out into the snow in their slippers laughing excitedly. They're hugged by the two adults. The parents appear at the door shouting warm greetings. Everybody is laughing and chatting. They all disappear inside the house. A silence falls over the houses again as the front door shuts.
I hear voices to my right over the soft snow. To the best of my knowledge, they're a group of carol singers making their way to a house on the other side of the road. Some are still singing. They're wrapped up warm in thick coats, furry boots and woollen scarves. Some are holding sticks with candles burning still. I hear a girl make a comment: something about how hungry she is - the others agree enthusiastically. Another door is opened by a man in an apron, and they all make their way up the steps singing and shouting "Merry Christmas��?. Again, the door shuts and all that happiness and laughter is shut in - as though something exclusive to a privileged few,
Who am I? And what am I doing out in the snow on such a special night? I should be with family, friends, and loved ones. It would be a sad Christmas Eve indeed if I were alone here, outside in the cold, no food, unloved, forgotten, probably even rejected by most who saw me. How many like me are out in the cold when it seems the whole world around is warm, cosy and cared for in a comfortable home?
Or perhaps I'm just a narrator. Not really out in the cold at all - I'm just writing about people enjoying Christmas. Pull back the curtain a little and glance out. Nobody there? Of course not. No need to feel guilty, then. Just enjoy Christmas!
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