Novels2Search
The Last Testament
SIde Story: The Loneliest day (Christmas Special)

SIde Story: The Loneliest day (Christmas Special)

The wind cut through the skeletal remains of the old town, a biting chill that clawed through every layer of fabric Grizzley had managed to scavenge. Snow fell in lazy, uneven flakes, dusting the broken streets and shattered storefronts in a thin coat of white. It should’ve been quiet—peaceful, even—but the silence felt more like a weight than a comfort.

He trudged through the frozen debris, his machete hanging loosely at his side, too cold to hold it tight. Above him, the moon was a hazy blur behind layers of gray clouds, casting just enough light to turn the world into a series of shadows. The apocalypse had stripped away the holidays, the joy of winter, and turned the season into just another reminder of what had been lost.

He reached an old diner, the kind of place that probably used to serve cheap coffee and greasy breakfast platters. The sign hung crooked, ice clinging to the edges, and the windows were long shattered. But the structure was intact enough to offer shelter from the wind. It was as good a place as any to spend the night.

Inside, Grizzley found a booth near the back, its vinyl seat torn and hardened with age. He dropped his pack and sat down heavily, staring out at the snow that drifted through the broken windows. The air was cold, his breath visible in front of him, but it was better than the cutting wind outside.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the last cigarette he’d been saving. It was bent, the paper slightly yellowed, but it was a treasure. He didn’t have much, but this was something—a small celebration, if only for surviving another year in this broken world.

“Another year,” he muttered to himself, the words trailing into the cold air.

He lit the cigarette with a battered old lighter that sputtered and hissed before catching. The first drag burned his lungs in a way that was both painful and satisfying. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cold glass of the window, and let the smoke curl from his lips.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Memories came unbidden, slipping into the forefront of his mind like unwelcome guests. Christmas had once been a time of warmth, of laughter that filled a house too small but full of love. He remembered Clara’s voice, high and excited, asking him when they could open presents. He remembered Lillian’s smile, always a little tired but full of quiet joy. They’d worn old sweaters and gathered around a tree that barely fit in the living room. The house had smelled of pine and cinnamon, of hope and tradition.

Now, there was nothing but cold ash and regret. Grizzley opened his eyes and took another drag, the cigarette now half-burned. He wondered what they’d think of him now—if they’d recognize him. If they’d forgive him for not being able to save them.

He shook the thought away. There was no room for self-pity in this world. It was about survival, about making it to the next day and the next. That was the gift he gave himself—a stubborn refusal to die, even when the world seemed determined to crush him.

A faint sound from outside snapped him back to the present—a distant rustle, barely more than a whisper against the wind. Grizzley’s hand moved to his machete instinctively, and he exhaled a slow breath, his senses sharpening. He listened, holding the cigarette between two fingers, the other hand wrapped around the worn handle of his weapon.

Silence.

He waited a moment longer before relaxing slightly. Probably just the wind knocking over something brittle and forgotten. He took another drag, the smoke mingling with the chill in the air.

He glanced at the small pile of belongings in his pack. There wasn’t much left—some dried meat, a flask of water that was half-frozen, and a frayed blanket. But he’d made it this far. He’d made it another year.

“Happy Christmas, Jack,” he said to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The words felt hollow, but they were something. Tradition, even in ruin.

He finished the cigarette slowly, savoring every bit of it until it was just a smoldering stub between his fingers. Then he ground it out on the cracked tabletop and watched as the ember faded, a tiny light disappearing into the darkness.

Outside, the wind picked up, and the snow continued to fall. Grizzley wrapped himself tighter in his coat, pulled out the worn blanket, and leaned back in the booth. It was going to be a long, cold night, but he’d faced worse. He’d keep moving tomorrow, keep surviving, because that was all there was left to do.

For now, he just had to make it through the night.