He stared straight ahead as he walked along the cracked, grey footpath, it was late afternoon and the last cold winds of the past winter scattered leaves and bit into his cheeks. Although he had a young face, his features were hard and set with concentration. People around him hurried to finish off last minute shopping, hustling and scurrying all around him but he did not notice. He fancied himself to be both visually and mentally akin to Dostoyevsky's Roskolnikov from the book 'Crime and Punishment' of which he had just finished a chapter on the train. Roskolnikov was a young, poor student, intelligent and cynical. In the book he murders an old lady money lender and her sister in an act of desperation. The book gives an insight into the criminal psyche as Roskolnikov is driven along the downward spiral by grief and insanity.

He considered this seriously as he stepped into the supermarket remembering that he needed bread. He had been alone now for so long and he was sick of it. He tired of the constant emptiness yet he felt that he could bear the company of no-one but himself. He had been so lonely for so long, that he had acquired a taste for it.

A walkman playing deep, depressive, mechanic music accompanied by soft voices ensured that his thoughts remained surely on topic as he paced through the aisles, enclosed in an aural world all his own. His personal 'soundtrack' drowned out all external noise, making the outside world seemed like nothing more than a bitter pantomime.

He grabbed a loaf of bread and turned sharply. Then it happened; he suffered an unconscionable effrontery to his mood. Christmas. Red and white stripped candy canes in vacuum tight packaging, cheap pieces of glittered plastic spelling 'Merry Christmas' in cursive writing, long life puddings in round plastic tubs all waiting to be snapped up by enthusiastic consumers. He winced visibly as he considered the time of year, and how it led to the deepest loneliness of all. He prepared his mind for the unstoppable juggernaut of cynical thought that he knew was coming and contemplated how he might write it down when he got home:



Christmas is Killing You,

Christmas is killing you, and you don't even know it. What began as a legitimate religious holiday has now become a western [and global] convention. Big fat guys in red suits, incredibly rich and sweet winter food in the summertime, another useless pile of crap that you'll both buy and receive, fake snow, 40 degree heat, whiney kids and increased stress. How did this happen? Well, stupid people need cheer; it keeps them satisfied, happy and ignorant. "It's ok that dad lost his job at the metal fabrication plant and little sister is going to have to sell her body to pay for dad's booze 'cause it'll be Christmas time soon!"

In the western world Christmas suited this purpose perfectly because the people who were leaving Christianity in droves kept the tradition minus the religion because they couldn't kick the happy habit. Now that it's perfectly acceptable to have a Christmas without inviting Jesus [the originators are even mocked for taking it all so seriously, don't deny it, I know you've thought it while driving past the church on the way to Uncle Bob's place on Christmas day] Christmas has been taken over by another unstoppable force: consumerism. Who benefits from Christmas now? The big fat guy who owns the factory in Taiwan where eight year old kids work for fifty cents a day making those plastic Santa face wall hangers. Modern day Christmas is a fraud, a sham continued by retailers to boost their profits [like Valentines Day, which was invented by a greeting card company]. How many times have you heard on the news "Retailers are disappointed this holiday season as Australians seem to be buying .3% less than last year" and don't tell me you haven't noticed how the ads for Christmas ['ads for Christmas' hello?] start earlier each year.

So maybe Christmas isn't killing you, but it's far shittier then you'd thought isn't it.