2001

The holiday’s suck. He finds himself always sitting on the couch, flicking past hypnotic ads advertising shit no one needed, All I Want For Christmas Is You on repeat with happy, smiling couples flashing on the screen. His depression usually isn’t this bad, but when Christmas rolls by, so do the pills and alcohol.

You decide to pay him a visit. He’s currently lying on his side, trembling with the cool tones of the screen pouring over his face, eyes darkened with pools of sleep.