In time, the ticking clock will stop, and so will I. I’ll fall down hard onto the ground, twitching in long, cruel spasms, and die. We all will, and we all do. Our wrapping is torn apart, and we’re left exposed: dead. That’s exactly how I feel at Christmas time. The instant you start to take that wrapping off of that present, your excited face tingling with an electric joy, I start to twitch. Laughing nervously, scruffling your hair as if I’m desperately hiding my anxiety in it.

Peeling away the sellotape, you make a harsh sound that grates upon my ears until I can’t hear anything else. I picture the moment soon to come in my head; how you’ll cover your disappointment with a plastic smile of fake acceptance, and how I’ll hear the crinkling, crackling in your voice as you tell me that what I got you was everything you expected and more. How your eyes will look right into mine as you say it, but I’ll know that you’re not really looking.

You’ve got past the sellotape, and start to rip away my wrapping. As you do it, I can’t stop the sudden impulse to laugh louder, disguising my nervousness with the excuse that I’m laughing at your enthusiasm. My hands and legs start to spasm violently, but you’re too wrapped up with finding out what I’ve got you to notice. You start panting, a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. In my head, I run away, escaping my imminent death. In reality, I’m frozen, and you’ve almost finished unwrapping me.

And then you’re there. I’m fully exposed - my wrapping painfully removed - and I’m counting my last seconds. You look at my present with large eyes, and then turn to me. You’ve stopped foaming at the mouth. Your dog-like feet slowly pad towards me.

You smile evilly, drool dripping from the bottom of your chin. Then you hug me, and start to cry, as I close my eyes and accept the inevitable: I’m going to die in your weeping arms. And then you’ll spit over my dead body.

You withdraw from the hug, the drool entirely disappeared now. You look right into my eyes, still smiling, and tell me: “I love you. Thank you.” And then I realise: That look… it's genuine.