Martin could never decide whether he liked the Christmas holidays or not; all of the students he normally lived with had gone home and he pretty much had the house to himself. That part was nice. He didn't have to worry about them coming home late and/or drunk and/or loud. He didn't have to make up excuses for why he didn't want to eat with them (he always felt bad about eating their food knowing that they were barely more financially secure than he was). He could sleep on the couch in front of the small fireplace where it was warm instead of in the attic where the icy wind blew through the roof and the walls that were never meant to enclose an actual living place.

On the other hand, it was terribly quiet. Living with four other people created a certain atmosphere of busyness, of something always going on and someone always around. Through the Christmas holidays, though, things were too calm. And he had to take care of the house himself. Which is why he was lugging the garbage bags out to the side of the road in the grey, wintery, evening rain. Really more of a grey, wintery, evening storm than just rain. The clouds above were almost black and Martin could hardly make out the curb at the end of the driveway through the curtains of water being blown into his face. Above all the noise of the weather, Martin heard what might possibly be the worst sound to ever hear: the back door being blown shut by the wind. Martin sighed, deposited the bags into the bin on the curb and fought his way back to the back door.

He turned the handle and pushed; the door was old and often needed a bit of encouragement to open, but nothing happened. The handle turned, but the door didn't budge. It was old and sticky, but it definitely still worked. Something was wrong. Martin angrily brushed the water from his eyes, swiped at the hair sticking to his forehead and gave another shove. Still nothing.

Of course this happens to me now, thought Martin as he slumped to the concrete step in front of the door, trying his best to hide under the overhang from the roof three stories above his head. It wasn't terribly effective. Of course, when there's no one in the house, I don't have my key because I was just bringing out the bloody rubbish and I don't even have a cell phone.

For how long he sat there, trying to decide what to do, he couldn't tell. He thought about walking somewhere, but where? The university was closed over the holidays and even if he did find a payphone, he didn't have any change to use one. The whole street was mainly student hous- There has to be some regular house on this street, or one nearby.

He stood up, brushed the hair and water out of his eyes and began walking. The air itself wasn't even all that cold, but the water was nearly freezing and the wind that was blowing it into his eyes was also searching out any gap it could find in his clothing. He was getting colder and colder and so far, no one had answered his almost-frantic doorbell ringing. There were no cars in the driveways or lights on in any of the houses. Why weren't there? So cold. And suddenly, so tired. Oh right, Christmas eve. He walked farther. He turned a corner – he couldn't tell which one – and kept plodding away.

Nothing. Just the driving rain, the icy wind, the lethargy creeping up on him. After a while, or maybe it was fifteen minutes, he couldn't be sure anymore, he stopped actually going up to the houses. He just kept walking. On and on. Maybe he was going in circles. It was so hard to tell with the rain and everything being grey and cold. He jammed his hands further into his pockets. His socks and shoes were soaked through. His teeth were chattering so hard he probably wouldn't have been able to ask for help, even if there had been someone to ask.

He was just on the brink of deciding to sit down somewhere with as much shelter as possible and rest for a minute because even walking had become too much work, when the lights appeared. Through the rain, he couldn't tell how close they were or, if it was a car, whether or not it was going to hit him. He almost didn't care anymore. The lights stopped moving, and floated in the darkness before him. They burned his eyes and he looked away.

"Good Lord, Martin, what are you doing out here?"

Martin thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it at the moment. It sounded concerned though. His teeth continued to chatter but the brightness of the lights was fading, or he was adjusting to it and could look at them more directly now. The shape of a car became clear, with a large figure standing by the driver's side door. Instead of saying anything, Martin began to move toward the figure, hoping that maybe they would let him sit in the car for a bit and warm up. He couldn't tell if he was actually moving or not; his feet had gone numb a while ago. He was shaking.

"Martin?