Leo never had a happy childhood, and soon enough, just like his miserable little hometown, he felt as if he was slowly dying. The last embers of passion and hope flickered, suffering the same slow death as the town. 

Factories were dying like flies. Abandoned houses could be seen on almost every block – overgrown gardens, crumbling walls with overgrown vines. The only elementary school in town, with only 50 students remaining, felt hollow and hopeless. Dozens of families fled the town each year, and Leo often wondered if the town was a sickness that made everyone – especially his parents – so cruel, or if everyone was rotten to the core all along. Perhaps, after all these years, everyone had given up.

The school bell rang, signifying the end of another boring school day. Leo crumpled his letter up and stuffed it in his pockets as he trudged home slowly. The howling winds were as unforgiving as always. He wrapped himself tighter in his only jacket, a jacket so thin and worn it might've been older than himself. 

He found himself home faster than he would've liked. For a fleeting second, he enjoyed the rush of warmth from the crackling fireplace. But then his mom, who'd materialized in front of him, shoved him inside and slammed the door shut. 

"Wipe your feet. Don't track your filth across my floor. " The woman threw a mop at him. "Wash the dishes and mop the floor before dinner."

"Yes, Ma," Leo replied hastily. And so the poor little drudge picked up the mop and started doing his chores, even though he was hungry, tired, and shivering from the lingering cold, imagining a warm meal that would, for once, be enough to not wake him up with an empty belly in the middle of the night.

The Granger house felt like a graveyard, even though it was supposed to be Christmas today.

Leo couldn't fall asleep, not after the woman sent him back to his attic without lunch or dinner, not after the man pushed the tip of his cigarette onto his back, watching him scream as the flesh on his back sizzled. 

He didn't even bother asking for help afterwards. None of the adults cared about his suffering. He'd asked for help from teachers, the police, even strangers. They all branded him as a lying, ungrateful child who wouldn't stop causing trouble even though he had food, a set of parents, and a roof on top of his head. 

His parents found out about his letter to Santa, which he'd forgotten about and left crumpled in his pocket. It earned him another beating. The woman sneered, tore it to shreds, and threw it into the fireplace. "We gave you a place to sleep, food to eat, you ungrateful wretch. That's your Christmas present. What else could you ask for?"

He crept downstairs, trying his best to remain silent. The creak of the old wooden floorboards never seemed so loud before – his heart pounded with fright, his head spun from starvation and adrenaline. He'd slung his school bag on his back, carrying all of his belongings instead of his school books. It was pitiful, really – a few sets of second-hand clothes, 5 dollars and 66 cents, a piece of dry, crusty bread, and an old lighter he'd nicked from the man's drawers. 

This dingy home was all he knew his entire life. He didn't know if he had relatives or not, and he'd never seen his own grandparents. He'd wished for multiple times that those weren't his real, biological parents; that one day, some rich old billionaire would pull up to his front door and announce he's his grandpa, and Leo would be his only heir. The man and woman would be grovelling on their knees, begging for his mercy, while he could finally, finally, throw them into jail and lock them away for the rest of his life. 

But alas, fantasies were always fantasies and could only remain in dreams. All those nights he spent tossing and turning did him no good. 

He was already at the threshold when he saw it. He stared, transfixed, as the fireplace seemed to roar louder. A log, jutting out, was licking at the musty rug. Embers, as ravenous as he was right now, devoured the stray piece of wood, spreading to the rug faster than he anticipated, feasting on the creaky wooden floorboards he'd always hated. The man and the woman slept on, bottles of wine clutched in their hands, the tongues of the flames dangerously close to their dangling arms. 

Leo froze as the uncomfortable warmth started to creep upon him. He could scream. He could wake them up, scoop them to safety. He could be the hero, and just like in fairy tales, they would realize that they were wrong all along, apologize, and live happily ever after...

Or would they? He felt his heart skip a beat as he thought of the rumors his parents were spreading in the neighborhood – about him being the troubled, scraggy kid who was always whining for more. Would anyone believe that the fire was a pure accident, and not his doing? The police would come, not to save him, but to throw him in child jail, something his parents always threatened him with. The neighbours would disapprovingly say he was always up to no good.

Leo bit himself on his lips. It's now or never, he told himself. Run, Leo, run. Don't care about them, just like how they never cared about you. Run.

He pushed the front door open and was immediately greeted with a ferocious gust of wind. The blizzard's only gotten worse in the past few hours. He was only a few steps away from the front gate when something cracked on his left. 

He whirled around. Hemlock, the grumpy old neighbour, was standing on his porch, peering at the Granger household with wide, startled eyes. The flames, threatening to burst through the windows, sent the sharp scent of burning wood into his nostrils.

"Good lord!" the man exclaimed. "Fire!" His tiny eyes locked onto Leo, scanning him suspiciously. "What did you do this time, boy?"

He bit his lip again in frustration as the old man hobbled over. Dozens of potential futures flashed in his mind – ones where his parents lived, ones where they caught and accused him – he just couldn't see one where no one blames him. 

Fear coursed through his body, pinning him to his spot – but the bitter taste of his blood shocked him back to reality. He pushed the old man away as he bolted towards the end of the town, where the forest and darkness seemed to stretch on forever. He'd never run faster before, his legs heavy like lead, his lungs burning. Behind him, the flames had already devoured half the house; an occasional yell of pain carried far away by the howling winds. 

Leo knew very well he was ditching everything he'd ever known behind. It was his home, no matter how crappy it was. His parents. His hometown. Yet, he couldn't stand any of them anymore. 

He knew this was dangerous. Runaway children were often never heard from again. But maybe, just maybe... he'd be the one to stumble across a faraway mine or a factory. Or even a farm. Maybe the owners would be kind enough to let him stay and help out. He would earn his own food and place to sleep so that no one could ever berate him for being a waste of food and space. 

Dear Santa, he thought as the chilling cold enveloped him. If you care about me at all, save me. Let me find a place to stay. Anywhere. Everywhere. 

Behind him, the never-ending night swallowed the distant fire that once seemed so bright. The blizzard raged on, indifferent, cynical.