At the stroke of twelve

It takes courage to stand alone, stark in the darkness.

There are no lights blinking on that grey building, despite the fact that we are in the last week of the calendar year.

Do the residents belong to a different cult? Are they mourning a loss?

Or are they simply not there?

The last assumption appeared to be probable. The building is deserted. But why?

Then, comes a silent explosion of lights, with each window lighting up and cheerful faces peeping out to say “Merry Christmas. Baby Jesus is here.”

I’m yet to see a celebration more beautiful than this.

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