Chapter One: Hoggish Greedily

Hoggish Greedily didn't exactly detest the holiday season. No, no, not exactly.

For deep down within his covetous, stint-laden heart he was still human. He pawed unconsciously at the rapidly fading scar over his sternum, thinking of his first heart attack, and how much it had frightened him.

And how much it had frightened his son, Junior.

After waking up from his open-heart surgery, seeing his son's worried face and his wife's anxious expression made him stop and consider his ravenous drive to possess for the first time in his adult life. Junior had cried out in relief, wrapping his arms around his father's neck, despite their current rift in opinion. He had almost wept with joy.

"Dad! Dad, oh God we were so worried...the doctors said...said...", Junior was too overcome with emotion to continue.

"Hoggish". The calm, yet slightly grating voice of his wife cut like a knife through the drug-induced fog. She leaned forward. "Hoggish, they said that you would not survive the heart attack, let alone the surgery. They had told us to think about making arrangements."

Greedily was stunned. He later came to discover that the myocardial infarction he suffered was indeed massive; that his arteries were so clogged and brittle that all of the general surgeons in the hospital had refused to operate. Luckily, an off-duty cardiovascular surgeon was able to be paged in time and had agreed to perform the surgery. Even though it was technically a success, little hope was expressed; Greedily had been clinically dead for at least two minutes by that point, the lack of oxygen had killed some of his heart tissue. They were afraid it had killed enough brain tissue that he wouldn't wake up.

But he did.

And for that moment, he was thankful for everything he already had.

"HOGGISH!"

Back to reality. That grating screech never failed to make him flinch.

"HOGGISH!"

"What IS it, woman?!" He hollered back, exasperated.

"Get yer fatass down 'ere!"

Grumbling, he obeyed the only creature he'd dare never anger intentionally.

His wife stood at the bottom of the stairwell, arms crossed, a burning cigarette dangling from her lips, glaring up at him with impatience in her eyes.

My darling wife. I'll never drink again.

Sometimes he thought (he wished) she should just swallow her pride and divorce him. She was clearly unhappy with her lot as his spouse, but refused to leave. And it wasn't about money. She came into the marriage with her own wealth, and admittedly, it comforted him somewhat to know she didn't marry him for his money. But under the smoldering perpetual rage in her eyes, he knew that she was miserable. Although Junior was a significant reason for their continued matrimony, he suspected a greater deal of it originated in her Roman Catholic roots.

But nothing in the world would convince her to stop her chain-smoking. She's sooner put out a cigarette in Captain Planet's eye socket. She had actually tried to once, when the Captain had sagely informed her that by smoking, she was polluting her body. He had to grin a little at that one.

"What are YOU smiling about? We have to get going. We're late as it is."

"Do we HAVE to do this? Junior's not even coming by until after Christmas this year," he practically whined.

"Stop being such a fucking baby, Hoggish. Go warm up the Hummer. We are getting a live tree whether you like it or not."

He sighed, and went to search for his keys.

So although last Christmas had been marred by his hospitalization, he knew it would be disingenuous of him to hate the season. It had, in a sense, given him something even he could never buy.

Or rather, had given him something back.