Part 1 – Discovery
The Ancient Book
The world had long since forgotten what it meant to feel joy. Cities lay in ruins, their concrete skeletons stark against an ashen sky perpetually heavy with clouds. The streets were filled with debris, and the only sounds were the wind howling through the empty skyscrapers and the occasional clatter of rubble disturbed by scavenging animals. Life had become a grim routine of survival—scavenge, eat, hide, repeat.
Mara crouched low as she rifled through the remains of what once might have been a department store. The shelves were empty, the windows shattered, and the floor littered with the detritus of a long-gone civilization. She was searching for anything that could be of use to her community, a small group of survivors eking out an existence on the outskirts of what was left of the city.
As she moved deeper into the shadows, her fingers brushed against something solid yet pliable. She pulled it out—a book. Its cover was faded, the title barely legible: “Christmas Tales.” She turned it over in her hands, curiosity sparking in her tired eyes. Books were rare, mostly used for firewood or insulation. This one, though, seemed different. It wasn’t a manual or a survival guide; it was something else entirely.
“Mara!” a voice hissed from outside. She quickly shoved the book into her satchel and hurried back to the group.
“What did you find?” asked Jace, a tall man with a thick beard and weary eyes.
“Not much,” Mara replied, shrugging. “Just this.” She hesitated before pulling out the book. “Have you ever heard of something called ‘Christmas’?”
Jace took the book and squinted at it. “Christmas… No, I don’t think so. Could be some sort of code or maybe an old ritual.”
Kara, a teenager who had been with them for only a few months, leaned in closer. “What if it’s something important? Something we should know about?”
Mara nodded. “It might be worth finding out.”
The group retreated to their shelter—a dilapidated subway station. There, under the faint glow of a fire, Mara opened the book. Dust flew into the air, making her cough. She flipped through the pages, eyes scanning unfamiliar words. As she read aloud, a strange feeling began to creep over the group, something they hadn’t felt in years: a sense of wonder.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house… Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”
Kara’s eyes widened. “What’s a ‘mouse’?”
Mara paused. “I think it’s some kind of animal. But that’s not what’s important. Listen to this—it’s talking about a celebration, a night filled with… gifts, joy, and happiness.”
The word “happiness” hung in the cold, damp air like an echo from a distant past. The concept was almost alien to them, something they had only heard of in stories from elders who barely remembered the time before the Collapse.
Jace leaned forward. “Keep reading.”
As Mara continued, the group listened intently. They heard of a figure named “Santa Claus,” of reindeer and sleighs, of stockings hung by chimneys with care. Each word was a revelation, a glimpse into a world they could hardly imagine—a world where people gave each other gifts not out of necessity, but out of love.
When Mara finally closed the book, there was a long silence. Then, Kara spoke, her voice soft but firm. “We should do it.”
“Do what?” Jace asked, frowning.
“Christmas,” Kara replied, her eyes shining. “We should have a Christmas. We should find a way to give gifts, to celebrate… to be happy.”
A murmur ran through the group. The idea was audacious, almost foolish. Yet, as they sat there, huddled together against the cold, a spark of something long forgotten began to flicker in their hearts.
Hope.
Part 2 – Preparation
Searching for Joy
The days that followed were filled with a new kind of energy. The small community, once listless and resigned to their bleak fate, was now buzzing with purpose. They began to prepare for their first Christmas, even though they didn’t quite understand what it truly meant.
Mara took charge of organizing the group. “We need to find things that can be gifts,” she said. “Useful things, yes, but also things that… bring joy. Whatever that might be.”
They split into teams to scour the surrounding areas, looking not just for food or tools, but for anything that could be considered a gift. Small, beautiful things—a music box with a cracked lid, a tarnished locket, an old, wind-up toy soldier. These objects, once discarded or forgotten, now held a new significance. They were more than relics; they were pieces of a lost world, fragments of a time when life was more than mere survival.
Kara found an old scarf, soft and worn but still intact. She held it up, imagining it around someone’s neck, giving them warmth not just from the cold, but from the act of giving itself.
Jace returned with a small, broken radio. “Maybe we can fix it,” he suggested. “If we could get it to work, even for a little while, it might play music… like in the stories.”
Mara smiled, the first genuine smile anyone had seen from her in years. “That would be perfect.”
But as they worked, doubt began to creep in. They didn’t know exactly what they were doing. The book was filled with stories and poems, but it didn’t have instructions. Was this truly the way people used to celebrate? Could they ever capture the essence of a holiday they barely understood?
One evening, Mara gathered the group around the fire again. “We may not know exactly what ‘Christmas’ is supposed to feel like,” she said, “but we know what it means to be kind, to share, to care for one another. Maybe that’s all it really is—a chance to remember what it means to be human.”
Her words hung in the air, and slowly, the group nodded. Yes, they could do this. They could find their own way to celebrate.
Part 3 – The Unexpected Visitor
The Stranger in the Snow
As the day of their improvised Christmas approached, the air grew colder, and the snow began to fall more heavily. The survivors wrapped themselves in whatever warm clothing they could find, their breath misting in the frigid air. Despite the harsh conditions, there was a palpable sense of anticipation. They had gathered their gifts, decorated their shelter with makeshift ornaments, and even managed to create a small tree out of scrap metal and old wires.
On the eve of their celebration, a stranger appeared at the entrance of their subway station. He was thin, with a gaunt face and eyes that seemed both wary and desperate. He wore a long, ragged coat and carried a satchel slung over his shoulder.
Jace was the first to spot him. “Who goes there?” he called out, raising his rifle.
The man held up his hands. “I mean no harm,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m just… seeking shelter. Please, I have nowhere else to go.”
Mara stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “Why should we trust you?”
The man lowered his hands slowly. “I have nothing to offer but my word. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’m just looking for a place to rest, to get warm.”
The group exchanged glances. Trust was a rare commodity in this world. But something in the man’s voice, his demeanor, spoke to them. They knew what it was like to be alone, to be cold and afraid.
“Alright,” Mara said finally. “You can stay. But if you try anything—”
“I won’t,” the man assured her. “Thank you.”
He was allowed inside, given a spot by the fire. As he warmed himself, he noticed the small tree and the makeshift decorations. “What… what is this?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
“We’re having a Christmas,” Kara said proudly.
The man’s eyes widened. “Christmas?” He looked around, as if seeing them all for the first time. “I thought… I thought people had forgotten.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “You know about Christmas?”
The man nodded slowly. “I was a child when the Collapse happened. My parents… they used to talk about it. I remember bits and pieces. Songs, lights… gifts.”
Jace leaned forward. “Can you tell us more? We’ve been trying to figure out what it was all about.”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “It was about more than just gifts,” he began. “It was a time when people came together, when they remembered the good in the world, even when things were dark. It was about… hope.”
As he spoke, the group listened, enraptured. The stranger’s words filled in the gaps left by the book, painting a fuller picture of the holiday they were trying to recreate. And in that moment, they realized they had been right to try. Christmas wasn’t just a story; it was a feeling, a light in the darkness.
Part 4 – The Celebration
A Flicker of Light
The next day dawned cold and gray, but the atmosphere inside the subway station was warm and bright. The survivors had done their best to create a celebration, and it showed. The small tree was decorated with bits of metal and glass, reflecting the light of the fire. The gifts, wrapped in scraps of fabric, were piled underneath.
Mara stood before the group, the stranger among them, and cleared her throat. “We may not know the old ways,” she began, “but today, we’re making new ones. Today, we remember what it means to give, to share, to hope. And we remember that even in the darkest of times, we can find a reason to celebrate.”
She picked up a small package and handed it to Kara. “This is for you.”
Kara’s eyes widened as she took the gift and carefully unwrapped it, revealing the scarf she had found. Tears filled her eyes as she wrapped it around her neck. “Thank you,” she whispered.
One by one, they took turns giving their gifts. Jace handed the stranger a pair of warm gloves he had found. “To keep your hands warm,” he said simply. The stranger smiled, a genuine smile that softened his hard features.
When all the gifts had been exchanged, Mara reached into her own pocket and pulled out a small, tattered piece of paper. “I found this in the book,” she said, holding it up. “It’s a song. I don’t know the melody, but maybe… we can make our own.”
She began to read the lyrics aloud, and slowly, the others joined in, their voices rising together in a makeshift harmony. The words were simple, but they carried a weight, a warmth that spread through each of them. For the first time in a long time, they felt truly connected, not just as a group of survivors, but as a community.
As the last note faded, they sat in a comfortable silence, basking in the glow of their small fire. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in a quiet stillness.
Then, a sound—a faint, distant chime. The group froze, straining to listen. It was coming from above, from the ruins of the city. The stranger’s eyes widened. “That sound… it’s a bell,” he whispered. “Like in the stories.”
Hope surged within them. Could it be? Could there still be others out there, celebrating, remembering?
“We should find out,” Mara said, standing up. “Come on.”
One by one, they rose, grabbing their coats and wrapping themselves against the cold. Together, they made their way up the steps, emerging into the snowy ruins. The sound of the bell grew louder, clearer. It was coming from the center of the city.
They followed the sound, hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. As they rounded a corner, they saw it—a group of people, gathered around a makeshift bell tower. They were ringing an old church bell, their faces filled with the same mix of wonder and disbelief that the survivors felt.
Mara’s group approached slowly, cautiously. The bell-ringers turned, and for a moment, both groups stared at each other in stunned silence. Then, slowly, one of the bell-ringers—a woman with silver hair and a kind smile—stepped forward.
“Welcome,” she said softly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Tears filled Mara’s eyes as she realized what was happening. They weren’t alone. There were others who remembered, who believed. And in that moment, standing in the snowy ruins of a forgotten city, they understood the true meaning of Christmas. It wasn’t about the gifts or the decorations; it was about coming together, about hope, about believing that even in the darkest of times, there could be light.
Part 5 – A New Beginning
The Spirit of Giving
The bell continued to toll, its clear, bright sound echoing through the empty streets. The two groups stood together, survivors of a broken world, but united by a single, shared purpose. They were no longer just surviving—they were living.
The woman with silver hair introduced herself as Elara. “We’ve been trying to keep the spirit of the old ways alive,” she explained. “We thought we were the only ones who remembered.”
Mara nodded. “We found a book,” she said. “It spoke of Christmas, of a time of joy and giving. We wanted to understand, to bring it back.”
Elara smiled warmly. “And you did. You brought it back in the best way possible—by giving to each other, by caring for one another.”
The groups mingled, sharing stories and food. They exchanged gifts—small, simple things, but given with such genuine care that they felt like treasures. They sang songs, some familiar, others new, blending their voices in a harmonious celebration of life and hope.
As the day wore on, Mara found herself standing next to the stranger who had come to their shelter. He looked different now—still thin and weary, but his eyes were brighter, his face softer. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me in, for showing me there’s still kindness in this world.”
Mara smiled. “Thank you for reminding us what Christmas is really about.”
The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the snow-covered streets. But the light in their hearts was brighter than ever. They knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new hardships. But they also knew that they were not alone. They had each other, and they had hope.
As night fell, they gathered around a new fire, built in the center of the street. The bell continued to ring, its sound carrying through the ruins, a beacon in the darkness.
Mara looked around at the faces of her friends, old and new, and felt a deep, abiding peace settle over her. This was what they had been searching for, what they had needed all along—a reason to believe, a reason to hope.
She took a deep breath and began to speak. “Tonight, we’ve made something new out of something old,” she said. “We’ve brought back a piece of the past, but more than that, we’ve created something that is ours. A new tradition, a new beginning.”
The group cheered, their voices rising into the cold, clear night. They had found a way to celebrate, to find joy in the midst of their hardships. And in doing so, they had found a way to remember what it meant to be human.
As they sat around the fire, exchanging stories and laughter, they knew that this was just the beginning. They would continue to face challenges, to struggle against the harshness of their world. But they would do so together, with hope in their hearts and the spirit of giving in their souls.
And they would never forget the lesson they had learned on this, their first Christmas—the power of kindness, the strength of community, and the unbreakable light of hope that could guide them through even the darkest of times.
The bell tolled once more, and for the first time in a long time, they knew they were home.
