A Cold Kind of Christmas

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 9: A Cold Kind of Christmas

By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita

Day 85 – December 25

There are no carols. No trees. No lights.

Just the sound of rain on tarp, wind through alleyways, and the flicker of fluorescent bulbs in half-empty shelters.

Christmas comes anyway.

Riley

She’s been writing every day, even when she can’t feel her fingers. She folds her pages into a Ziplock bag she keeps tied to her belt. She hasn’t seen her aunt or cousin—but she’s sure they’re still in it. Her gift today? A tiny notebook someone left on a bench. It smells like peppermint and ink.

Danny

He traded a clean pair of socks for a cigarette and watched the world pass from the SkyTrain platform. He says he’s not bitter. But he sings “O Holy Night” under his breath with tears in his eyes. Says the song reminds him of his son. He won’t let himself cry in public.

Shannon

She hasn’t spoken to anyone since December 1. Walks with her head high, makeup still flawless. Someone gave her a bright red scarf and she wears it like armor. Her silence isn’t weakness—it’s her last form of control.

Mira

She’s coughing more. Sleeps in the women’s section of the drop-in and writes things on her arm with a marker. Mostly prayers. Mostly names. She hasn’t replied to Shannon’s last message. She doesn’t trust her anymore.

Jay

No one’s sure where he’s sleeping, but he keeps showing up—always nearby. He watches Riley more than she knows. He leaves things where she might find them: extra bread, a working pen, a rain poncho. Quiet protector. No one knows his game. He might be the only one still playing with heart.

Juno

Wrote “F*CK XMAS” in sidewalk chalk outside the shelter, then drew a heart underneath. They found a scarf in the donation bin and gave it to a kid, even though they could’ve used it. They don't believe in holidays—but they believe in warmth. That’s enough.

Malika

She saw a little girl today who reminded her of her daughter. She stayed outside the community center all night just to hear kids laughing during breakfast. Didn’t go in. She’s saving that pain for later. For now, she holds Luna’s pup, the one they let her name. She calls her Hope.

Bruno

He’s been sleeping in the boiler room under a thrift shop. Woke up at 3 a.m. in a panic. Thought he heard Tank barking. Realized it was just the pipes again. He recorded a message to no one: “Day 85. Still standing. Still watching. Don’t trust the cocoa.”

Kenzo

He went back to the train station today. Wrote a number on the back of a lottery ticket. Handed it to a stranger. “That’s your luck,” he said. “Not mine.” No one’s seen him since sunset.

Avi

Made coffee with snowmelt and an old metal tin. Said a prayer no one else understood. She shared half her protein bar with a man in a wheelchair and offered to braid someone’s hair. Her eyes are tired. But still kind.

They weren’t supposed to find each other. They weren’t supposed to still be here. But somehow, they are.

It’s a cold kind of Christmas. But it’s still Christmas.

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