Christmas Never Came
"I am sorry, my dear girl, but we don't accept homeless
The words hung in the air, looming there like
a phantom torture, the syllables escaping the old, plump yellow Lenny's beak
and settling in the scrawny Wocky's ears. She was used to it all, all the failed
admissions and all the insults and all the mocking phrases thrown at her. She
didn't want to be used to it, but she was; afterall, she had lived on the streets
all of her life.
And most citizens of Neopia didn't like street
pets. They seemed not to trust them; whenever a street pet was around, they
took extra caution to avoid them, and they took extra caution to hold onto their
Neopoints and onto their belongings tight. Even if the Wocky wanted to steal
somebody's Neopoints or belongings - not that she did - it would've been impossible.
They were too wary around her; not even the most experienced thief could snatch
"I-I beg your pardon?" the Wocky stuttered in
reply to the old, plump yellow Lenny's words. She had heard her most definitely,
but she pretended she hadn't. She needed to hear it again, just to make sure.
Just to make sure that, for once in her life, she had been accepted somewhere,
that for once in her life she had been let in somewhere she wanted to go. She
was 99% sure her ears hadn't been deceiving her, but there was still that 1%
of doubt lingering in the air…
"I said 'I am sorry, my dear girl, but we don't
accept homeless pets here," the Lenny replied, her wings crossed firmly in front
of her. She was tapping her left talon on the ground impatiently, waiting for
the street Wocky to leave. Waiting for her simple and quiet library to be at
ease again. She didn't want to scare away the innocent folks, afterall, with
this street Wocky's presence.
Innocence. It was a really strange word. The
Wocky always had thought so. She was innocent. It wasn't her fault she
had been dumped into the outskirts of Neopia Central when she was just a kitten.
It wasn't her fault, but everybody treated her like it was. Everybody. There
was no exception; there never had been and she felt as if there never would
"Please leave now," the Lenny instructed, interrupted
the Wocky's distraught thoughts.
"Sorry," the Wocky murmured. She turned dejectedly
around and plodded clumsily to the front door of the library, which was wooden,
thick, and decorated in a bright green holiday wreath.
The wreath reminded the Wocky that it was Christmas
again, today-this very day. She hadn't remembered, but she did now.
The Wocky had never liked Christmas. It was always
so strange then. Random strangers caroling at each other's homes; bright lights
and wreaths and holiday figurines in store windows; families today, laughing
and throwing snowballs at each other.
It was so… peaceful then… so peaceful today,
on Christmas day. So happy. Everybody was nice to each other, it seemed. Everybody
was nice to everybody else, almost at least. Everybody was nice to everybody
else… except for the street pets.
They didn't want to be nice for them. There was
never a time where they could accept the pets lower than them, the pets who
didn't have families and probably never would have families. The pets they were
afraid of. The pets who scavenged dumpsters for food. They didn't want to be
nice for them. Not even for 24 hours. Not even for one day, one simple day,
Gritting her teeth, the Wocky stalked away from
the library, her bare paws striking the snowy ground in an angry, violent fashion.
She stalked away, past the very, very last-minute holiday shoppers and the normal
shoppers and those just walking on a fine Christmas evening to catch a breath
of fresh air. She walked past them, not shooting anybody a second glance. Her
ripped, black cloth pants were soaked in cold sweat. So was her gray rag shirt,
and her matted, uncombed, oily, unwashed red fur. Cold sweat covered her in
every possible place, making her feel miserable.
Gulping, the Wocky continued stalking on. Pets
and people were scared of her now, even more so than normal. They jumped out
of her way, trying to avoid her. They thought she was going to hurt them or
something; an angry street pet equaled a trip to the Neopian Hospital. Or at
least that was their reasoning.
The Wocky could honestly say she hated them.
Them, with their fancy Neohomes and fat and happy bank accounts and their exotically
painted fur. Them, with their countless friends and their nice owners and their
soft beds to fall asleep in at night. Them. She hated them. Hated them so much
it made her pain.
Her speed increased. She pushed past more people
and pets, her paws swiping the sometimes empty, sometimes not empty air. The
icy wind pounded against her, but she didn't care. She didn't care at all.
She continued stalking, her breath short and
her lungs aching. She was in a residential neighborhood now. Far, far from the
Lenny's library. Far, far from the most recent place she had been refused admittance
to. It was the most recent place she had been refused admittance to, but it
certainly would not be the last.
She had just wanted a book. An easy book, one
meant for pets just starting Neoschool. Ones that told the alphabet, ones that
were basic with clear, no-frills language. She had just wanted to learn how
to read. And she had been refused that.
The Wocky felt tears stinging in her eyes. They
stung yes, stung so badly it made her shiver. Her eyes darted back and forth
between the rows of houses with brick chimneys and spacious yards, the houses
that looked so warm and cozy inside. Her eyes darted back and forth between
the rows of houses, looking for somewhere to find shelter.
She found nowhere.
So the Wocky continued stalking on, past the
rows of identical, comfortable and warm looking houses. The amount of people
and pets she was walking by had lessened considerably. But still, when she did
pass somebody, they took extra care not to directly cross her path.
She hated them and they hated her.
She shakily lifted a paw and wiped away her tears,
trying not to cry any more than she already had. She had never been a big one
on crying; most other street pets she knew referred to it as a weakness. You
couldn't be weak out here on these streets, they said. If you cry you'll fade
away and nobody will ever see you again.
She couldn't cry.
Now clenching her paws tightly in front of her,
she neared the end of this street. The rows of identical, comfortable and cozy
and warm looking houses stopped abruptly. Now was a little stretch of land,
packed with small shops and big alleyways.
Where she lived.
The Wocky stopped at the fifth alleyway to the
right, where she often slept on cold nights. It was adjacent to a sewing shop,
and the big gray dumpster there was often filled with pieces of wool and cloth
that she could make a blanket out of. She sharply turned into the alleyway and
rushed up to the dumpster. The Wocky then hoisted herself onto an overturned
wooden box and rummaged through the trash until she came upon a decently sized
piece of textile, ugly and splotched but nevertheless functional.
She pulled the textile out and then she staggered
off the box. The Wocky then threw herself onto the hard, snowy ground, wrapping
herself in the vaguely warming material.
She subsequently cried herself to sleep.
Christmas never came to the street pets of Neopia.
A/N: Hey guys (and gals XD). I'm attempting to get back into NT writing.
Sooo yeah. Hope ya enjoyed, and Neomail me with any comments, questions etc.