(no subject)

[karra]

This is Christmas in Hell.

There is no turkey dinner, no gravy, no hot dinner rolls. No ham. All right, there's ham, if you count canned, and why would you? There are no lights on the church, though there is a midnight mass. There is very little in the way of Christmas cheer, other than the flask of whiskey that the deputy sheriff has taken to carrying around with him on his rounds.

There are monsters. There are bright little glowing bits of light in the night, in the fog, in the mist and in the almost constant storm that surrounds the town. One of the last, possibly one of the only last bits of civilization in the country. Quite possibly the world.

There is family. They are family now, the few that stayed behind. They live in the Inn, because it's easier. It's easier to stay in one place, easier to survive that way. The sheriff, the deputy sheriff, the drug dealer, and the handful of others. They don't talk about much anymore, there's nothing really to talk about.

The hospital is growing now. Even the monsters stay away from that part of town for the most part. The hospital is growing, eating everything that stands in the way. It infected one of the rats, and the rat bit the sheriff. Infected his hand.

They had to lop it off. Burn the wound.

No one says it, but they're starting to wish they'd done the same with this town. It's home, but they don't want it. It's home, but they're not there anymore. They need to go, but no one dares. No one dares try anything anymore.

This is Christmas.

This is Christmas in Hell.