Zealous Anticipation
The veil was thin, and he could wait no longer. He’d been trapped in this place for hundreds–no–thousands of years, and if he had to listen to one more cheery carol he would go mad.
He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten here, but he was certain it was the mistake of his life. He’d suffered enough for three lifetime’s worth. For nine months out of the year this place was lifeless and dull, but the other three months were insufferable.
It was cold, dark, and too bright all at once. Every one who was taciturn for the rest of the year were the first to start blasting the carols and pretending that they are the most beautiful and generous souls to have walked the land. It was nothing but a front. He knew demo00ns with more genuine sensibilities.
He couldn’t wait to go home.
The clock struck midnight and he raced for the border and broke through the veil.
He was home! He’d waited so long to be free!
But the music had followed him or his brethren had adopted the foul things.
He fell to his knees and wept in defeat. What was the point of being free if the worst part of his torture didn’t end?
This was a living hell!
When would the nightmares end?
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