I know that most people don't like their job. I see them on the tube, dragging themselves to their miserable nine-to-five to pay off their mortgage. I look into their eyes, they are dead inside. They live for that Friday afternoon feeling, a few hours when everything is okay. Well, I hate my job. I hate it with a passion. I hate it so much I think about leaving it every minute of every day, all year round. But I guess that is not an option. My back hurts so much, I can't sit straight. Every joint in my body just aches. My clothes look so worn after all these years. My smile feels fake and the joy inside me is gone. Who am I kidding? Nobody believes in me. Why should I continue believing? Why should I continue to exist? Why should I not end it all?

I haven't always been like this. No, I loved my job more than anyone else on this strange, cold planet loved theirs. I used to believe in the good in mankind. I saw light where others saw darkness. I used to bring joy to people when they needed it most. Oh, Oh, Oh how I used to love getting up in the morning but today everything is the wrong way around. I was so full of happiness and just wanted to share that with every single one of you. I wonder where this feeling went. I was even famous once. I used to get fan mail every single day, letters from all over the world. Needed several assistants to go through them all. First letters used to be kind, then they were so full of greed. Not even a text, a snap, a WhatsApp, nothing. Nobody cares about me and yet I am still cursed to do this job with no end in sight.

Wait, what is this? A sound I have not heard in so many years. A letter making its way through the cold iron letterbox, floating to the floor. Oh, Oh, Oh how I used to love this sound and look, I still get goosebumps, after all these years. No, its not a letter, its a postcard. On it, a boy of no more than six years of age, with blond hair, freckles, smiling at me in front of a fireplace. Let's see what he wants. Let me get my glasses, quickly. Apologies. Ok, here we go: "Hello, I know you don't work tonight but you must come now. Please, it must be tonight, Tim Glaubandich.". He is very right; I don't work tonight. I can't make it. What is it that he wants? I have never been out this time a year, but then, what do I have to lose? I shall go.

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It was a strange sight to be observed at the Glaubandich's family home that night. An old, fat man was trying to climb up onto the roof and when he finally succeeded was gone with a blink of an eye. The moonshine illuminated the windows and if one cared one could see the old man in Timmy's room having a drink, eating something, and picking up a letter.

"Hi there, you probably always get letters asking you for the new Playstation, a phone or a bicycle. I don't want any of that. I want to say thank you. For the last years my mummy was very ill and every night I would kneel on this bed and my only wish was that she would get healthy again. I never stopped wishing and I never stopped believing that you could make that wish come true. Today she told me that she was completely healed so I sent you the card. I have a present for you, please take my teddy bear Billy, he is my best friend and he is pretty great. You and Billy were the only ones giving me hope, you belong together. Thank you! I love you, Tim."

The old man was standing in the moonlight, shaking, sobbing, tears flowing down his cheeks. He had the biggest smile on his lips with joy beaming out of his kind eyes. When he made his way back to the roof, he took a deep breath and let a scream into the cold night air: "Ho, Ho, Ho"