New Year’s

          December 31, 2022. The neighborhood was alive. Outside were countless families, all of which were preparing to celebrate the new year. The night sky was alight with fireworks, explosions of color in the black sky of different shapes and sizes. All of them, falling slowly towards the ground as time moved on. Down the street, a couple of kids, a yellow glow reflecting from their faces, we’re running around, sparklers in hand. Bit by bit, the heat grew closer to their hands. 

           Downstairs, on the first floor, in one particular house was a party that would last long into the dark night. A giant feast stretched across the dining room table while the family prepared to eat. Foods and ciders were passed around to everyone. Loud Christmas music was coming from their speakers, every so often, pausing, to play a new song. 

          Next door an old couple sat on the couch. They were watching, waiting for the ball to drop on the TV.  On the wall, sat a picture of their children, none of which thought to invite their parents over to celebrate. Some families were eating dozens of grapes, following the tradition of their ancestors. Others were just relaxing indoors, not wanting anything to do with the madness that is New Year's. The clock was ticking, second by second, growing ever closer to midnight. 

          Lastly, in a house, all the way back at the far edges of the neighborhood, there was no party. There was no food, no drinks, no music, just nothing. The family was grieving. Upstairs an elderly man lay in his bed. He had pure white hair and was covered in wrinkles. His bones were fragile, crumbling by the moment. His chest not moving, his heart not beating, he lay still. The old man was dead. A smile on his pale face. His final day on earth, December 31, 2022.