After selling the empire

Mother said December was never the same once they sold the empire.

I remember the Decembers of my youth. They were shining things in the corners of my memories. Times of joy, I think. There were the thirteen days of celebration, I remembered. There was a lot more to them then that. Something to open every day. It was always a small toy or some candy. Mother had always been thrilled. She had spent so much time on it, I think, now that I look back on it.

Then they sold the empire. I was five. And December changed. The candles no longer were put on the table. There was nothing to unwrap every day. Just one day that everyone had to go to the city centre and listen to a person speak in a language we didn’t understand. They told us to appreciate the empire and we would all agree to whatever it was that was being said by raising up our hands when the person was done.

December was never the same once they sold the empire. I try to recall what December was, but the memories fade away every year. One day it will just be this language that they are finally teaching me. One day it will just be me, throwing up my hands in agreement when they ask me too. One day.

December will never be what it was.

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