My Christmas is not like many others. There is no free for all gift opening. There is no running back to our rooms to spend the day with all our new toys. There are no crazy drunken uncles, nor white trash cousins. No one gets ran over by reindeer. No one gets left out of it. But by golly, it’s crazy. And it is crazy good.

But this year...this year was different. I woke early, excited to spend time with my family. Excited to give gifts. Excited to love each other. We opened gifts, my last one being a beautiful and intricately carved knife. Seemingly just out of a fantasy.

I placed it in my room with the rest of my gifts, heading down stairs for a quick lunch. We quickly ate turkey sandwiches, and with that done the real fun began.

The games come hard and fast. Hitting like punches. The longest and most anticipated game was a family version of capture the flag/hide and seek/tag/extreme Calvin ball.

We spread out, hiding and preparing. I burst out of the shadows on my mark. I sprinted around the corner. I jumped off a small bridge. I climbed a tree and jumped to the next. Cross a river. Run down a hill. And with next corner, I truly lost. My blade.

My blade shoved right between my ribs, meeting my heart like a wrenching kiss. The cold metal shocks my blood, but the metal turns warm as my blood washes over it.

Family games have become too competitive.