A Battle Lost, is Another’s Victory

This was originally published at The Writer’s Lounge for

‘The Snow Filled Lounge  Contest’

It was that time of the year again, when the world was engrossed in festive and revelry. It was the time of the year he spurned. The world draped in silver and adorned with resplendent ornamentations sparkled. Despite the dreary gloom cast by the gray sky, the incandescent smiles on elated faces rekindled the milieu.

Throughout the year, his hands to mouth existence did not perturb him. It was this time of the year when his compunctions and frailties confronted him. Inspite of striving hard, he had failed to give his ‘Little Angel’ what she wished for. Every year she hoped for a Christmas with a garnished Christmas tree and presents in a sock, and was disheartened. Today, on Christmas-Eve, perched on a quarantined bench, he prayed .. for a way.. to bestow his ‘Little Angel’ with the joys she deserved and coveted.

A tall, young man in a beige suit strolled down the archaic and bygone path. Bemused and flustered, he sat on the other end of the bench. Despite the icy evening breeze, droplets of sweat trickled down his brow. Few minutes later, he walked away abruptly. On the bench lay a chestnut leather bag. The bag was rammed with wads of banknotes and a card, on which with golden letters was carved a name and address. 

The forthright and righteous him was compelled to deliver the bag where it belonged. But his paternal instincts were transcendent. The euphoric gleam in her shallow eyes would be priceless. His prayers had been answered, a path had unfolded, to tread or not was his choice. His heart delivered the verdict. Tonight, for once, his ‘Little Angel’ would have the Christmas she wished for. On this day of Christ, his inner demons had taken over him.

He was baffled. He had never traded his values for corporeal contrivances. Abdication could cost him his career, but ceding to their demands would mean forfeit of his morals. He accumulated the cash in a leather bag and set off. With a tormented and oblivious head on his shoulders, he meandered away. He was battling his inner demons. Lost in scuffle, he walked away from a bench, forgetting his bag. When realization struck, he smiled and reckoned, perhaps the choice was made for him. On this day of Christ, he had evaded his inner demons.

One man’s lost battle, is another man’s victory !

Word Count: 399