It was 8pm on Christmas, and Syndie was fed up.
After waiting in the freezing cold for over an hour for her contact to show up, she had decided to go right home to her cozy living room, make a nice warm cup of hot chocolate, and have a delightful, cozy, evening.
There was only one problem with this, of course. Syndie didn't live in a quiet borough in middle-class America, but rather in a ghetto called Tinseltown that sat grotesquely on the outskirts of Whoville.
However did this travesty come to be?
Approximately 20 years prior, A despot named President Nicholas had risen to power. He was fat, wore a red uniform, and had a long white beard. He had quickly earned himself. the nickname "St. Nick."
For his first act as president, he had co-opted all the possible firewood sources in the region in support of his pet project—building himself. a bigger palace. When the dismayed Whos had begged him for a way to heat their homes, he had airdropped 1500 pounds of carcinogenic tinsel on them—a byproduct of the palace excavation project.
"Let them burn tinsel," he had snickered over his shoulder.
They'd decided to choose their battles. So they'd shrugged their shoulders, and burned the tinsel.
A lot of people had died that year.
As for Syndie, hers was a small existence. Ever since she could remember, her days were filled with weeping; her nights, with despair. If she was lucky, she'd find clean drinking water still in its little plastic water bottle out at the garbage dump, along with maybe a rat or a possum that she'd be able to cook for dinner. Hot chocolate was a thing of the distant past, and as for cozy living rooms—ha! She'd be lucky to find a clean place to sit in all the rubble of Tinseltown.
Still, for some reason, she occasionally held out hope. Like right now—who knew—maybe her contact was just late. Although she had started walking home, she got her radio back out, and hit the button.
"Purple Eagle," she said, "I'm in position. Over."
But only static replied.
Annoyed, she did it again.
"Purple Eagle," she said again, "I'm in position. Over."
Static again.
Sighing, she shrugged. Couldn't things just go right for once? Something had obviously happened to her contact, and because of it, she and her family might not eat Christmas dinner that night.
Of course, in Whoville, every night was Christmas dinner. But the shortages were real, and they happened more and more often. Everyone put on a good face—a night without eating wasn't the worst thing in the world—but the constant starvation was beginning to take its toll.
Still, the Christmas spirit stirred strong in her. If only she didn't give up hope too quickly, maybe, for some reason, her contact would show up. After all—it was Christmas.
She tried again.
"Purple Eagle. I'm in position. Over."
"Winter Fox!" The radio instantly buzzed its reply.
Syndie froze, convinced she was hallucinating.
Was it possible? Was she hearing things? Was her contact really in position?"
"Stay in position! I'm on my way!"
This had never happened before.
She hadn't even really believed he would show up. She was already halfway home, and it was 12 degrees out—she could hardly feel her feet.
But she couldn't stand to see the look on everyone's face again when they had to go yet another night without Christmas dinner.
Turning around, she headed straight back to the drop, hope in her eyes. Maybe they would eat tonight!