Standing back, I take in the glorious sight of my Christmas tree. Months I have waited for this. To drag the boxes down from the loft and splash the festive season around my house. Only, it’s not the house I’m decorating. I turn to gaze around the grungy flat I now call home. Christmas alone this year. Sighing, I try to claw that festive feeling back to the surface. Picking up the last golden bauble, I hunt for a space for it on the tree’s crowded branches. There, just in the centre. Perfect. I rub my hand across the stubble on my chin, close my eyes, and send out a wish, that Santa will give me my family back for Christmas. Opening my eyes, I look at my bedraggled reflection in the shiny surface of the ornaments. Lost in my own haggard state, I take too long to notice the second face reflected back at me. Turning, I meld my face with the incoming blow. Falling to the floor, black spots obscuring my vision, I wonder who they are, but as the second swing flies down at me, I know.
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly Flash Fiction prompt based on the photo supplied below. If you wish to take part, the idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 100-200 words (usually called flash fiction). You can participate here.