[ CW ] Tell a story in a light hearted tone . Then tell the same story with a dark tone .

The smell of cocoa, sweet and enticing, wafted over the kitchen counter to Jill. She fidgeted in her pink jammies, excited for the rare nighttime treat. It was Christmas eve and snow tumbled down beyond the frosty window of the kitchen. 
 
 `` Be careful!'' her mother told her, smiling as she pushed the mug along the countertop to Jill. Jill wrapped her long sleeves around her hands to shield them from the heat and carefully waddled into the living room. The TV was playing the opening to *It's a Wonderful Life* and her dad was snuggled under a blanket on the couch. Jill sat at his feet and he swiped her hair affectionately. The cocoa, though very hot, warmed her chilled fingertips as they peeked from her sleeves. 
 
 Jill looked over at the tree - a rainbow of decorations sparkling in the warm glow of the string lights - and at the fireplace, now only a few coals to heat it. That was where Santa came from. 
 
 `` You excited?'' her dad asked, grinning down at the six year old. 
 
 Jill nodded her head enthusiastically and smiled. Then, the movie faded into the first scenes as her parents put their heads together in the warm glow of Christmas. 
 
 That night, Jill could hardly fall asleep for her excitement. She kept imagining the big, jolly Santa making his way down through the chimney to bring her a sack of shining, beatifully wrapped presents. Maybe even a bike or a swing set! Every twitch of the old house was a reminder that he would be coming soon. 
 
 With the image of her new gifts in her mind, Jill slowly drifted into dreams of candy and flying reindeer, then deep sleep. 
 
 -- - 
 
 Snow swarmed the small house in the suburbs, burying it in sanitizing white. Of course it would n't last. Eventually, it would turn grey with the soot of passing cars and melt into the irritating slush that iced driveways and soaked through even the best boots. 
 
 Inside, six year old Jill scalded herself on steaming cocoa. Despite the pain blossoming in her mouth, she continued to blow and sip, blow and sip - like a tiny, cocoa-drinking automoton set to `` consume.'' This Christmas Eve was different, but little Jill was unaware. Instead of venturing out of their white-picketed enclave, the Jones's were settling in for the night - away from friends and away from family, isolated from the distant town center and the reminders of all they could no longer afford. 
 
 Mr. Jones, curled under one of the blankets that had become necessary with their cost-saving measure of lowered heat. On the floor, he watched Jill as she eyed the plastic tree and the dying fire. 
 
 `` You excited?'' he asked his daughter, wan smile playing on his lips. He could n't tell her yet that Santa was not bringing much this year. He could n't destroy her dreams by explaining that Santa was n't real, and that Daddy had had a tough year finding employment. He could n't tell her that the cocoa would be running out soon. 
 
 She only smiled and nodded, not catching the nuance of his question. Jill was only interested in three things that evening: hot cocoa and TV and maybe Santa. 
 
 That night, Jill laid in bed overexcited from the sugar and thoughts of the fat man that was going to come and bring her shiny new presents. She was hoping for a bicycle and a new swingset, though she still did n't know how to ride a bike. 
 
 Oblivious to the truth, Jill slowly drifted into dreams of candy and fling reindeer, then deep, innocent sleep.
