Death, it really isn’t a big deal these days. Death is mourned with a sort of bored arrogance, rushing through it quickly before anything really meaningful is felt. Truthfully, the world is more concerned with the celebration of life. They research technology to increase it, they invent stories and fables to make it more bearable, and they lie to themselves, saying that one day, everything will be better.

“…”

Another thing, what most creatures don’t understand is that every living organism can think. Just because they see something that appears inanimate to them, it doesn’t mean that it does not have the ability to be wise. I mean, what is so wrong about thinking that they are not the only ones who have evolved? What is so wrong with looking at me and wondering what I see in them?

From what I’ve experienced, most creatures disregard that idea and adopt a new one that states that they are the only smart ones in the universe. They run from the opposite like they run from death, like they run from the unknown. It’s less of an allergy and more of a phobia.

“I…”

There is a little girl in front of me, age unknown, but obviously very young. She is bundled up tight because of the weather, a cute pink scarf wrapped around her thin neck. She’s wearing shoes that look like fuzzy slippers. Thick sweat pants colored bright red like the headlights of a car. Thick mittens wrapped around her hands. To me, she is very cute, very soft and nice to look at. She reminds me of a bird.

Yes. I do have eyes.

“It’s… just…”

I have eyes that see more than most anything. I have eyes that have witnessed the destruction of living beings and the darkening of skies and the final winking eye of a star. I have lived a very long time.

“I don’t want this.”

I’m not bragging. Near immortality isn’t a blessing. This doesn’t make me happy.

This, this is a curse. It’s not something I would have chosen.

In fact, I should have died a long time ago. And that’s the truth.

And there should be comfort in the fact that soon, very soon, my wish will come true. But…

I guess I just don’t care anymore. It doesn’t really matter.

“Amy? Are you okay?”

No, she’s not. There are tears forming in her eyes. She’s staring right at me, giant icicles forming, and I can tell that I’m hurting her.

“Not like this… not like this…”

December was never a good time for me. It never gave me a reason to be happy, because I knew that one day I would end up just like this. I would die just… like… this.

“I’m… sorry.”

This little girl, she looks like a bird that I used to live with, before she left for the season. She was very kind to me, very respectful, even when she laid her nest. She did it very carefully, staying comfortably out of my way. In return, I kept her safe from other predators and I tried my best to keep her warm.

And soon enough, at the change of the seasons, her children were born.

“I’m so sorry.”

I never had a father or mother. I’ve never known my origins, so I don’t know the joy and sadness of belonging. And I guess my intentions were selfish and maybe even a little cruel, but honestly . . . I felt like I was a part of something.

Yeah.

I should have died long ago.

“Let’s not do this, okay? Please, please, please, let’s not do this.”

There is a boy with this little girl, dressed in blue attire and covered in a heavy coat. He is also staring at me, eyes green like leaves. He is not crying.

The little girl is begging with him, sobbing now, giant tear drops hitting the concrete like snowflakes. She’s holding him tight, arms around his waist, squeezing as hard as she can.

She’s so sad.

And then, the boy looks at me, then at her, then at me, then back at her, and then and only then do his eyes start to shine and mist.

The fog is starting to roll in. Night is rapidly gaining momentum. I’m not going to see the sun ever again. I’m dying.

I’m dying.

And in fact, I’m already dead. I have no chance of being saved. Already I can feel myself turning into a drifting brown carcass, good only for a fire in some family’s home. Only good for roasting chestnuts.

While the rest of the world is united in the celebration of life, I am alone, awaiting my drawn out death. And, believe me, please. There is no comfort. There is no catharsis. The truth is that I should have died a long time ago, before I ever saw as much as I did, before I ever met the bird.

Those around me, they die too. They’re in the same situation I am in, all lined up for other creatures to pick and prod and judge us. I know that I am most likely alone with my feelings. I, however, will never know. They won’t talk to me and I won’t talk to them.

It’s the way it has to be.

And they’re both staring at me again, their arms around each other. The girl is still crying, her face contorted in agony. I didn’t know that I hurt her that much.

“Okay, Amy. We’ll go.”

She nods.

They give me one last look; a respectful, mournful gaze. They’re both staring at the decayed nest that my bird and our children left long ago. My reminder that this was the way it had to be. This is the way things are, and they aren’t going to get any better.

And then they turn around, leaving me alone once again. Alone for the last time.

“I’m sorry about this. I should have known…”

“It’s okay. Really. I overreacted. It’s just that nest…”

“I know. I know what you mean.”

He kisses her, his lips warm enough not to stick to the dried tears on her face. “This is the greatest gift I could have ever received.”

He nods.

And as they walk away, I want to call to them, say to them, “But it won’t get any better.” But I guess it wouldn’t matter if I told them. I would have ruined the moment. Everyone deserves at least one moment of bliss.

Night reaches its apex. The temperature drops the lowest for the evening. Soon, however, things will change… things will change…

I always knew that I would die in December.