He's coming. I'm certain of that now. There was never really any question, just that lingering hope that the inevitable would not be. I have little time to prepare for the ill fate which has been thrust upon me. But I will be ready. I must.

I'm alone; my family left me one by one. I'm the only one who remains, forced to face him on my own. Every second that goes by is another second stolen from the time before he comes.

My heart starts beating faster; he is near. His approach is relentless, nothing can stand in his way. The anticipation of the events to soon occur only excite him and hasten his travel. His happiness is my fear and sorrow. Now my heart races in my anticipation of the up-coming events. I make a feeble attempt to prepare myself mentally but it is no use. No one is capable of preparing for something like this.

He is here. The time has come. I don't see him, but there is no question he is here. Yes, I can hear him. Beyond that wall. He sounds so happy. Oh, if he only knew the emotional turmoil he has created within me; maybe then he might go back where he came from. But no, that cannot be. My heart thunders inside me; it screams at me to run, to do something.

As I approach the door, he knocks. I'm slowly turning the handle when I realize that there's no turning back, this is it. As the knob reaches the end of its rotation, with my sweaty palm making it slick, I yank the door open and try to act happy.

"Grandpa," I exclaim, with unauthentic joy.

"Grandson," he laughs and steps through the door. The second he gets in, he hits me with a bear hug and a present from behind his back. "Go ahead, open it," he says. As I open it he asks, "Where's everybody else?"

"They went out shopping," I say. I open the box in absolute horror because within that box lies a brand new pair of pink and blue argyle socks. And I say to myself, "I'm DEAD!" 1