FicWad

In this house, the last remnant of Christmas is the chipped red and white candy cane-esque stripes on the nails of a teenage girl.
It's barely the 28th of December, but yet, the sparse decorations have already been whisked down, the tree stashed away for another year. The cheery holiday mood, too, is hidden away until another mid-November. By tomorrow, harsh and cruel words will again fly like throwing knives, cutting to the bone everyone and anyone within earshot.
The sweet, caring, friendly family act is but a charade, brought out for a short time each year, and just as quickly hidden away. However, for the month or so that it lasts, she allows herself to pretend it's real, but every year it gets harder to convince herself of it. It's been steadily worsening each year since she was about 7 or 8. This year may have been the worst of all, with her having to work all of Christmas day. She would have gladly passed on the overtime pay if it meant having her family's cheerful mask become real, or at least, last longer each year. But as it is, she gladly embraced the aching feet, the nearly 12 hours she had spent in the crappy diner, and the rude customers, if only for the fact that by doing so, she is saving up to move the hell out of this place.
In 3 days, it will be New Years Eve. Every year, as far back as she can remember, she's made the same wish, and the same resolution. She wished her life would get better. She resolved to be a better person, so her family would actually love her, instead of always finding fault in her words, her thoughts, her actions, her everything.
She can't see that it's them who are at fault, not her. To her, she's always been the reason why they fight, why they scream, why something's always wrong. It's always been her who's done something to piss them off.
Christmas is over, and so is the holiday season, and by extension, the holiday mood. They're back to their old ways, and it will remain so for the next 11 months. She has no reason to continue to feel Christmas cheer. Not even by leaving her nails painted in something that made her feel like a kid again, if even for a moment, reminding her of when the holiday mask was something that existed year round, not just for a few weeks.
Looking down at them, she knows that she should change them. No need to prolong the suffering. Best to quickly forget this time, and the thought that things could get better, until this time next year. She should go back to her regular black nails. Even so, she an't bring herself to change them. Not yet. After all, what's another day or 3 of a small spot of fancy?
The next day, the sharp edged words begin to flow out of their mouths by the dozen, right on schedule. She's hit by one of her depressive stages. Every time she looks at her hands, she's reminded that what she misses, and what she wants are just fantasies that could never be. She's hurt just thinking about it. There mere suggestion of going through this whole ordeal is too painful for her to swallow.
However, a bullet goes down rather easily, and considerably less painfully, and she won't have to go through this again, because afterwards, nothing matters anymore.