Grizzly, unshaven Samson sulked through the doorway and sank into his worn-out couch. He turned on the crackling radio and let his tattered but effective comforter inspect his frozen limbs. He kicked off his slippery boots and pressed his frostbitten fingers onto his vibrant cheeks, pulling his blanket even tighter around his neck. Broken Christmas carols bobbed ambivalently throughout his tiny living room. The only other piece of furniture was the chipped and stained piano that had not felt the warmth of lively fleeting fingers for years now; it sat eagerly in the corner. A single lamp hung by the ice encumbered window, a beacon to the traveling flakes outside.
There used to be knocking on the doors, the smell of a meal cooking in the kitchen, and too many guests in an already cramped home. There used to be laughter, but Samson was the last one left of his family and he had no one to share his time with anymore. Where he sat, happiness was nothing but an echo; leaving no proof it was ever there at all.
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