The Christmas Wish (a short story) | To Accompany My Fractal and Stable Diffusion Art Project

"Come, we mustn't be late else we'll miss the bus," Kenyon whispered. From the ledge, he threw a hooded robe into the opened windowing of her room. The next instant, he followed the trellis backward and fled from sight behind the wall.

Jaycelia wasn't accustomed to bus rides. Packed with people who looked a bit dejected, she wondered where they were destined down the rocky road. The trip wasn't pleasing, but it was an adventure she'd never undertaken.

She leaned over and whispered, "where are we going?" Kenyon huddled even closer to avoid being overheard, and whispered a place she didn't recognize. An hour later, he signaled the driver they wanted to exit.

They stood watching the dust trail the bus as it continued on.

Kenyon beckoned to Jaycelia.

The short, winding road upward lead to a secluded place with large, angular boulders. So this was their destination. She looked confused, wondering why he'd brought her here. Acting secretive the last few days, he knew she was adventurous, so only hinted that she'd be blown away by their discovery. Her imagination already pictured a secret temple they'd explore in the mountains.

Trampled grass was evident as footprints surrounded the empty spot. They weren't the only visitors it seemed.

"Get down. Midzo Town doesn't tolerate strangers snooping around," Kenyon whispered, pulling her to the ground. He ignored her disapproving frowns then added, "there wasn't time to dust off the rocks." He knew she was a compassionate person, but sometimes she acted "full of it", and he felt it his place to deflate the attitude.

They peered over the ridge with binoculars.

Children about their age, consisting of teens and younger were lined up one behind the other on the left side of the road. Bare feet were visible under ragged shorts, pants and tattered dresses. Their outstretched hands held small bowls appearing to wait for some type of nourishment, she presumed.

Tall men in plain clothes lined the other side of the road. With weapons held high, they faced the children.

Jaycelia swung around and slid to the ground. Her hands went straight to her face to catch the flow of tears.

"Where are their parents? Kenyon, what's going on down there? She didn't understand the situation unfolding.

"Parents are paid a small pittance to lend their children for various reasons. Some fight; others work. If the parents protest, their offspring will be taken forcibly with no compensation. Those men aren't with the government. But operating either with permission or someone high up who looks the other way is the only reason I see this is allowed."

Jaycelia looked hard at Kenyon. Suddenly, he appeared much older than their thirteen years; and of course, wiser. "How do you know all this? Fight for what? Work doing what? And why would their parents take money in exchange for their children?".

"Those are hard questions I've asked myself. So I set out to find answers only to be met with hostility. People don't want to talk. And, I didn't want to be viewed as a troublemaker."

Jaycelia kept shaking her head. She reached up and took another look while Kenyon kept talking.

"I heard some cave dwellers talking. They were hiding their children. Then they go back and forth to bring food. It's horrible, but the government won't step in to stop it. There's nothing that we can do to help them. If their parents didn't succumb, their children will be taken anyway. It's a business, you see. The children work in the mines, but aren't paid."

They rode home in silence.

Jaycelia helped her parents tie string lights around their home, but her mind was far from Christmas thinking of Midzo Town. She wondered what else illegal took place. Surely my parents know, she reasoned, as she observed laughter and smiles at their decorating efforts.

Urged to take a sip of the special holiday punch mixture, she wondered what the children would drink.

That night, she sneaked into her father's study. Numerous plaques and awards lined his work area. His desk contained pictures of him in uniform with numerous badges attached to his shirt. She traced the outline of his hand as he held it high in a salute.

Only then did she fully realize they were part of a special elite class. She knew they were granted privileges. But she didn't know to what extent and what had been done or promised to receive it.

She remembered her mother's favorite words in prayer, saying "the will of God".

Exhausted from the turmoil inside, she readied herself for bed. Freedom the children who stood in line and their parents should experience were denied. I don't think it had anything to do with "the will of God", she moaned.

Staring at her fireplace mantle, she decided to remove the treasured antique her father gifted her. The beautifully shaped, uniquely carved, hand-blown glass resembled an oil lamp. She called it her "magic lamp".

She leaned over and whispered into it, producing an echo. "I wish happiness for the children. But above all, I wish they and their parents to know the freedom I enjoy.

She felt no discomfort, only peace as an abundance of flowers rose up around her and burst into flames.

She knelt down beside her bed and prayed. She asked not for God to deliver the children by himself from their misery, but to give her strength and wisdom to find a way to help Him, all from the palace high above the stench and pollution.

Three months later, the holiday was a faint memory. Jaycelia sat at the dining table. Canvassing the room, the elegant table setting, chandeliers, and exotic foods flown in from other countries, looked like a feast for a king. Servants stood to attention waiting on their commands.

It wasn't easy now to accept the word of her elders now, especially after seeing the proof.

She placed her fork down gently and sat upright. She no longer had a taste for the delicacies purchased on the back of the oppressed. Her own back steadied by the embroidered dining chair, voices of laughter and banter dimmed. Tears welled up at the indignant attitudes she now remembered her entire life.

No one noticed her look of disgust as she stared at the mirrored wall.

In the reflection returned to her were bare feet and outstretched hands begging for items she neither asked for nor particularly liked. She just didn't realize it fully until now.

What she did know now was that her life, together with Kenyon's help, would flow in another direction.

As the image grew bolder, she promised herself, with the strength of God, that the campaign to end the injustice to the children would start with her face and her voice.

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