Carl isn't even sure how many Christmases he'd missed. It had to have been two, at least. They'd all kept track of time, as best they could, but he'd shied away from thinking about holidays, especially after his mom died.
Now, the first Christmas he would celebrate without his mother, Carl didn't really know what to do. His dad was doing his best to make it nice for Carl and his sister, but nothing was like he remembered it to be. It was all a little more dim, a little less magical.
When the world had ended, he'd still gotten presents from Santa Claus, his mother trying to keep up the ruse, even though the other kids at school had told him Santa wasn't real, three years earlier.
The dinner was bland, but after years of prison previsions, wild game and scavenged canned goods, he couldn't really complain. Still, he found himself pushing the food around on his plate, trying to ignore the lead weight in his gut.
no subject
Now, the first Christmas he would celebrate without his mother, Carl didn't really know what to do. His dad was doing his best to make it nice for Carl and his sister, but nothing was like he remembered it to be. It was all a little more dim, a little less magical.
When the world had ended, he'd still gotten presents from Santa Claus, his mother trying to keep up the ruse, even though the other kids at school had told him Santa wasn't real, three years earlier.
The dinner was bland, but after years of prison previsions, wild game and scavenged canned goods, he couldn't really complain. Still, he found himself pushing the food around on his plate, trying to ignore the lead weight in his gut.