The December Man

The cold December morning rain feels like needles prickling against George’s cheek. The leaves have long fallen from their twigs, lying in fire colored heaps on the grass. The sky was a gray blanket, suffocating the sunlight.
Goddamn management, George thought, watching a plane tear through the sky above. They let me off so fucking easy. The bench was drenched in dew, sticking against the man’s back as settled into the chair with a sigh. His suit was black and his shirt was white, with a coffee stain painting the front. His tie was as gray as the sky, complimented with black stripes. He thumbed open his top button, slipped out of his tie, and threw it into his suitcase.
The path through the park was a river of small gravel grains, each a different shade of red. A sparse arrangement of weeds spruced from the path, all wrestling with the winter wind for a grasp at survival. George knew everything died during winter; it was the ring of the season. He grabbed a woolen beanie and wrapped it over his head, covering his slick black hair. He did not care what people thought when they saw him; it was a pointless worry.
What am I going to do with my life now? Damn Margret, that bitch. She doesn’t know what the word ‘asset’ means. As he thought this, he trailed his finger along the wooden back of the bench, wiping up the moisture from the rough surface. He assessed the metal armrest, scratching underneath it and coming out with fragments of green paint and rust beneath his fingernail. It was as if the whole world around him was falling apart, the bench included.
A shadow over casted his vision.
He glanced up at the figure to see a tall, genderless figure standing in front of him. The outline of the figure was fuzzy and unnatural, warping and fluctuating like the surface of water. He needed no introductions; he knew it was The December Man.
‘What do you want?’ George grumbled, turning his attention away from the figure.
The figure’s head produced a wide white grin. ‘Why, just a seat. May I?’ Its voice sounded like it came from inside George’s own head.
‘Sure whatever.’ The December Man sat beside George and crossed its legs, leaning on one arm and staring at George like he was a zoo attraction. George cringed away from it, trying to ignore its mocking stare. The shadow slides towards him, squishing its body against George.
‘What do you want?’ George shouted, looking at the shadow. The smile faded from the creature’s face.
‘You seem to be down in the dumps.’
‘Don’t bullshit me. You know I’m down in the damn dumps.’
The wide grin appears on its face. ‘Why so rude? I’ve always been there for you through thick and thin. Do you want a hug—?’
‘No!’ George shouted, jumping off the bench, away from the creature. The smile disappeared once more. ‘You’ve always been there, haunting me. Telling me the same thing over and over again!’
‘Relieve the pain…’
‘…relieve the pain. Relieve it—fuck you!’
George turned around to see a young woman walking her dog. She had long beautiful hair and dark eyes. She stopped in her tracks to look at George, her face puzzled. ‘Sorry… it was… him!’ He pointed at the bench, his face red with anger. The woman glanced at the bench, then back at him; then she proceeded to walk faster, practically dragging the terrier behind her. George sighed and sat down on the pathway, looking down at his legs.
‘She didn’t understand. No one understands.’
‘I know how you can make them understand,’ it said in his head, now immediately beside George.
‘What?’
‘By jumping.’
George blinked. When he opened his eyes, he was standing on top of an office building. His suitcase was gone. From where he stood, he could see the park he was just at a second ago. He turned around to see a massive T–his old workplace’s logo! He was right on top of the headquarters, his feet inching off the edge of the roof. He jumped back and turned back around to see The December Man watching him intently.
‘What the hell? How did I get up here?’
‘Jump.’
‘No! I’ll just ignore you like I’ve always did.’
‘Jump.’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’
‘Jump. Do it.’
‘Never–’
George found himself spiraling towards the street below, his coat flying off him. Tears began to build up in his eyes and he whispered a small prayer, saying sorry to everyone he could name. As he neared the ground below, his eye caught something. A tall dark figure followed a young man, its arm attached to the man’s head, draining white light from him. He looked down the street and saw the same, this time an older woman. Everywhere he looked; December Men were draining people of their freedom–and of their happiness.
People do understand, he thought. Everyone understands. They all have–
The only person who showed up to George’s funeral was his ex-boss, Margret. She had her hair in a bundle and her attire was almost as dreary as George’s. She sat in a fold-able chair near the grave, her head in her knees. Snow began to fall, covering George’s grave in a thick white blanket.
‘Oh George,’ she asked the casket, ‘why did you do it?’
In her grief, she heard a voice call to her. She turned around to see a shadow with no features. It pointed to the empty chair beside her.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
The shadow produced a wide white grin. ‘Why, just a seat. May I?