The Christmas Future

The Christmas Future

I flicked my eyes open. My curtains twitched, letting a strand of sunlight ship across my room. I wriggled under my duvets, trying to get comfortable to drift off into my deep slumber. Realization suddenly set in, it was December 25th, Christmas morning. I threw the covers back jolting upright and lunged out of bed.

I ran into my parent’s bedroom, still in my pajamas. I leapt onto the bed and shook my parents vigorously, hoping I wouldn’t lose a second in opening my gifts. Slowly, they roused, too slowly for my liking. I soon got sick of waiting, so I jumped off the bed and hammered down the stairs, feeling the soft velvet caress my feet. I swung open the door and stood, in awe.

They stood before me, magnificent and extravagant. Each one formed a unique silhouette against the shadow of the Christmas tree. The mounds of presents all huddled together, like scouts around a campfire. The sight of them shocked my eyes, my jaw dropped, my hands trembled. I looked around the room. It was barely recognizable for the invaders that scattered the floor. My eyes fell upon the nearest and I couldn’t wait a second longer for my parents to come down

I ran towards my presents, I touched the film of teddy and Saint Nicholas covered paper and smoothed my wrist over the ribbon bow wrapped around it. I slowly unfolded the bow. The box was large and flat, it looked perfect under the tree it was a shame to lift it from its nest of ornate beauty under the pine spindles of the fresh tree. As I ripped open the wrapping paper the scent of pine filled the air and ran through me, I shook with a mixture of appreciation and excitement. The wrapping paper was off, the present: A toy car. I wrapped it in my arms, I longed to play with it but my other presents lay there, calling to be unwrapped.

The morning continued on, each time a present was completed a new adrenaline pumped through me as I started the next. Morning drifted into midday. It was dinner. I went fully dressed into the dining area, my face beaming. Roast turkey and chestnuts seeped through from the kitchen. The door opened and the feast was laid upon the table. My mum and dad tucked in, slurping their wine at regular intervals, my sister joined us; she was just old enough for babysham. I sat and tucked in, a warm roll of turkey was whipped with my tongue; the smell was only surpassed by the taste. The dinner was beautiful, a traditional Christmas: perfect.

I piled the delicious food into my mouth. It tasted brilliant, and my senses all became acute to the meal before me. My eyes noticed its beauty on my plate, my ears could hear every drop of gravy as it dropped off my meat, and my nose could pick up anything before me, even the smell of my wine. I looked at the people around, all enjoying their meals, as I was. And something caught my eye. Caught it so my whole head turned in its direction. Caught it and pushed the thought of a perfect Christmas aside. Something copied my movements, watching each member of my family in turn, as I did. Watched them all slurp their wine and rip apart their meat. The camera, hung in the corner of the room, watched everything.

The thought of the notorious government then set in, just as the realisation of Christmas had. I looked at my wrist. There etched in my skin from birth was a scar, a deep, thick scar, under it a microphone, with me everywhere I would go, feeding of my conversations, friends and life. Nothing was private; the party could hear everything, anything. The flick of the camera was heard; it was there, leering over me, watching me look at the scar. I quickly went back to eating, pretending the camera wasn’t there, I was used to doing that.

My father saw me looking at my wrist. He too, looked up at the camera, then back at me. I saw him move his lips, but I heard nothing. He said it so quiet, I felt sure I knew he was cursing. The government policy offended my father, he was always against being watched, and after all he had gone though in his life, after years of being spied on, I couldn’t blame him. But there was no way he could say anything. Nothing could stop the party from running us like this. It wasn’t fair, but we said nothing, for we all knew the consequences.

Tension ran through the house, my father was at breaking point. He stood, shouted a curse at the camera, his face reddened. I looked on cringing. The camera turned, its eye looking at my father’s skull. A brilliant red light emanated from a bulb next to the cameras eye. It beeped loudly; the sound pulsed through the house. The metal back on the chair shook violently. My father was forced back down; his head was magnetized towards the chair back. A metal plate, inserted at birth. A cuff scrolled around his wrists fastening him to the chair, he wailed, we were helpless, we could do nothing. The camera beeped louder and faster, louder and faster until….

An electric wave shook through my father’s body, volt upon volt shocked his system, killing every nerve making him numb, his teeth went blue; his skin charred black. His head dropped –death. My jaw dropped as did my mothers and sister. I cried inside, a small undetectable tear rolled down my face, streamed then dried up quickly.

The camera light dimmed and went off, the beeping stopped, the camera began its routine like swivel, looking at each of our faces individually. We all looked at each other in turn, sadness grew. Almost systematically each of our heads turned to the camera and slowly we smiled.