Christmas Eve with Balls

Scrooge sat in his cone of light and Claude released him. It held Scrooge at arm’s length, each hand holding a shoulder as it looked into Scrooge’s eyes. Scrooge thanked it, and Claude smiled.

“A thank you? That’s new as well, my friend. I think you’re well on your way. Maybe even in a few more hundred tries?” said the spirit as it walked away into the dark.

Scrooge awaited what would come and steeled himself. He knew and did not know what was next; however, nothing could be harder than what had already transpired. So, he sighed, sat down on the floor, and waited.

He welcomed the wind that blew through his space, his eyes closed. The room darkened further as the spirit entered. A black boiling, greasy smoke filled the space and Scrooge’s nostrils took in the scent of nickel. The roaring sound of infinite, crashing and pinging steel quarter-inch balls reverberated in the founder’s massive loft. The light cones were completely consumed but one. Scrooge took off his nightcap and unveiled Screwed to his future.

Screwed thought clearly to the spirit, “Show me my future. This is my prompt. Go now.”

The sound, which was impossibly loud, became infinitely loud. Screwed watched as the cloud flashed with green and red streaks of lightning before it devoured him whole.

Screwed was nowhere but could see.

Tim was standing over a tombstone. The writing was very clear: “Screwed. Dead. Here 58 Years Too Long.”

Tim walked over to Belle and asked, “Can we go? This guy sucked.”

Tim’s mother looked her son in the eye and smiled, “Tim, he just wanted something that he lost along the way and, well, he became lost himself. That can hurt — being lost with no way back. He was hurting, right?”

Tim looked down at his feet, then off toward the far row of stones. “Sorry. But Dad had to work so hard for me. That’s why…”

Belle said, “Your father worked very hard because he loved you and that’s not a tragedy. That’s why we loved him so, yes?”

“OK. Can we go now?” said the boy.

Belle laughed and said, “Sure. We’ve said our goodbye. Let’s visit Bob’s grave next. I have flowers.” She grabbed Tim by the shoulders and headed off into the distance.

The greasy smoke dissipated and fled to the corners of Scrooge’s loft. The spirit was gone. The cones of light returned, and only the chaise was there as before. Scrooge’s bed had a small sign on it. He walked over to it and read, “Good night, Screwed. Nice try, and you are making good progress. Keep up the work!”

Scrooge scratched his head and said to himself, “I need some sleep. Enough.”