This drabble is dedicated to my friend Lucas.

The house freezes in anticipation of Christmas. Children snore upstairs. I checked.

Rushed gifts litter the floor. Under the tree, they go. Ugh. The stockings. They hang above the fire, starving for treats.

I rub my eye pouches. “It’s too late for this shit.”

Emptying the candy packages, I toss them around the room rather than feed the gaping mouths.

Sleep curls me into the recliner.

“We no good?” I wake to mucky voices.

Blankets of chocolate shapes pin me to my chair.

“Taste us. We good. Promise,” Chocolate ropes force themselves down my throat. I should’ve finished the stockings.