”Merry Christmas,” he said.
I gave him a one eyed stare and he went “Oh that’s right. You don’t celebrate Christmas. Too bad.”
He fished out a chicken lap from the plate of rice his mum had brought for him. Just as he was about to put it in his mouth, I grabbed it. Before he could say anything, I’d started tearing the flesh from the chicken’s bones. It tasted glorious. He was mad. He was boiling mad.
This wasn’t the first time I’d stolen his Christmas chicken, I mean, he should have already learned that I’m as Christmas chicken thief. It was the first time however that I ever felt I was missing out on something worthwhile by not celebrating Christmas.
Christmas day to me meant video games, movies, masquerades and stealing people’s chicken. I always felt like that was the life. But maybe I was wrong. Just maybe.
He looked at me, his face twisted in a damning frown. Then he brightened up and smiled.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Fuck you.” I replied. Mouth filled with chicken bones.
