Throwing his leg over the side of the queen-sized mattress, a bed way too big for the size of the apartment, he walked the three steps it took to go to the airplane lavatory-sized bathroom. An attempt to look at his reflection in the mirror was met with failure, as the unwashed surface of it was way too soiled with mildew and grime to make it anymore than a perverted painting hanging on its last hinges from the puke yellow-tiled bathroom wall.

        Seeing the futility in that, Paul simply turned around and urinated in the general direction of the toilet bowl. After flushing down whatever had made it in, Paul exited the room and stood in what might comically be called the vestibule of his flat.

        From where stood, he could see that snow was still falling outside. It looked to be a pretty nice day, but for Paul, no day was truly that nice. Then it hit him, today was Christmas Day!

        Paul was filled with an excitement that he hadn't felt in the months since he moved out on his own. Sorry...since he was kicked out by his mother and forced to live by himself. She said that since he was eighteen, it was his responsibility to make it on his own. He had tried, boy had he tried, but it was to no avail, as most of Paul's attempts were. He had been unable to find a job, due to lack of qualifications, nor had he been able to go to school due to lack of funds, so he had no choice but to sit in his broom closet of a flat, think about how everybody out there - with their drivers licenses, warm houses, loving families, jobs and purposes in life - were so much better off than he was, and living off his Welfare check, which generously provided him with just enough money to  buy a bag of apples each month to eat, as well as to pay his rent. So, dangerously thin and stuck inside with only his computer to keep him sane, he had been waiting for this very day for quite a while.

        With the exuberance of a prepubescent child, he tossed off his soiled boxers and made his way back into the bathroom. If his entire apartment could have been likened to the filth level of a toxic waste dump, then the bathtub could be likened to a diaper owned by a baby with explosive diarrhea. Yellow stains lined the tub like veins, and the ridges were covered in rust. Paul had been formerly sickened by the idea of doing anything in that abomination except take the quickest of quick showers and getting out as quickly as possible. This time, though, Paul languidly smiled as he filled the tub up with warm water. Walking back to the kitchen while it filled, he took a candy cane from the cupboard. He had raided the santa area of a mall after the kids had left and found it beside Santa's throne.

        Walking back toward the bathtub, he saw that it had nearly finished filling up, so he turned off the water, gingerly stepped into the basin, stuck the candy cane in his mouth and sat down in the warm, yellow water. It felt quite good around his aching skin and he relaxed his head back and lay on top of a rust stain, as he ran his fingers through his greasy hair and laughed a little to himself.

        Paul was born into a fairly rich family, and had been treated quite fairly by everybody, until his father left when he was ten. Then, his mother beat him incessantly whenever he did the slightest thing wrong. Eventually, though, Paul grew up to be a fairly strong guy, and when his mother hit him, he'd smack her back. So, finally, she stopped hitting him, but Paul had always favoured his father anyway. Granted, he didn't know quite where his father was, but he always had this vision that, at his worst, his father would somehow find him and save him and bring him home to wherever to he lived and they'd live happily ever after together.

        "Well," Paul thought, as he reached out his right hand and took the revolver, his most prized possession and the only thing that his family had ever given him, from behind the toilet, "Come save me now, daddy."

        Paul wore a lopsided grin as he put the gun into his mouth and began to count silently down. He was going to give his father ten seconds to come rescue him, before he ended it all.

        10
        9
        8
        7
        6
        5
        4
        3
        2
        1
        ......
        Suddenly, Paul heard a noise outside his apartment door. Could it be?

        The warm sounds of "Silent Night" from outside his door made Paul smile. "Nope, only carolers."

        0

        Paul didn't really even feel much, other than a moment of pain, before he blew the back of his skull out. Finally at peace, he sank slowly under the water, now a dark crimson.

        The carolers had been scared off by the bang of the gun, but as they ran out the front door, a single man entered and stopped in front of Paul's apartment.

        Knocking, he said, his voice twinged with guilt, "Paul, sweetie, it's dad. Your mom told me that you lived here and I was hoping to see you. Maybe we can start over, and...umm...I have a room in my place that you can stay in."

        After waiting for several minutes with no answer, he nodded, "I understand. I wouldn't want to see my father if he ran out on me, either."

        So, with his head down, the man walked away, clutching a single Christmas present in his hand, with a label that read,

        "To my son, Paul
          Love, Dad"