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He wasn’t sure whether Christmas was one of the good discoveries or one of the bad ones. It was a delightful discovery, when people suddenly started listening to special music and putting up special decorations. But it served to illustrate how much the Centre had taken from him. Suddenly he understood why everyone went away once a year. “The Centre thinks it best to isolate Jarod from popular culture.” Isolate him from popular culture? Isolate him from humanity, you mean. Destroy yet another part of what makes this human life worth living. Joy to the world. But not to Jarod.
Merry Christmas, Sydney
At first I wanted to accuse Sydney. Every year he went away to celebrate that great tradition of Christmas, and he left me behind in the cold, grey Centre to pass through yet another series of dull days and lonely nights.
But his Christmases weren’t much better than mine. Silent, lonely hours spent at the side of a twin brother who never moved, never spoke, may not have even known he was there. A silent vigil of love. Sydney’s Christmases weren’t about merriment. They were about giving of himself without return. As mine will be. I’ll give myself.
Merry Christmas, Sydney.