I have always hated Christmas. The city transforms into a fake celebration, with shop windows glittering under artificial lights and hollow smiles on people’s faces. Gifts, decorated trees, and perfect family portraits… All these images remind me of my past. Once, I had a family too. Elif… my wife with a warm smile, and my little boy, Efe… But I lost them. They vanished from my life because of my own mistakes. I don’t even know where they are now. Maybe they’ve built a new life in another country. All I know is that I caused them the greatest harm.
For me, Christmas is nothing but an echo of loss—the anniversary of the cold emptiness inside me. But this year, things were going to be different. I decided to prepare for my own end. I chose one of the sturdy beams in my house; this time, instead of hanging a decorated Christmas tree, I would hang myself from that beam. Embracing the silence of the end… It seemed like a simple decision, yet death required far more courage than I had anticipated. To gather my resolve, I decided to step outside and buy one last bottle of whiskey.
The streets were deserted; the pulse of life seemed to have come to a halt. Only a small convenience store, its dim lights flickering, remained open. The cashier said, “Merry Christmas,” and I nearly let out a bitter laugh. I simply nodded and walked out.
I opened the whiskey bottle and took a few large gulps; the warmth burning my throat couldn’t disperse the cold inside me. As I walked, I noticed a peculiar-looking homeless man sitting at the street corner. He wore an old, white cloth, and his face glowed oddly under the streetlight.
“Come, sit with me,” he said in a calm voice.
Why not? Eternity could wait a few more minutes. I offered him the bottle, and he silently accepted it. In that moment, I recognized his face—it looked as if it had stepped out of a fresco. It resembled a sacred face I’d seen in old church paintings, but more tired, more human.
“You think this isn’t real,” he said suddenly, locking his eyes on mine. “But how can you be certain of what’s real?”
His voice sounded like it was woven from ancient prayers. “You wonder where God is,” he continued. “But what if God is you?”
“If I’m God, then why is my life a wreck?”
“Because you built it that way.”
His words surfaced the questions that tightened my chest. “If I die… does everything end?”
“Death is merely the end of one dream… and the beginning of another.”
A shiver ran down my spine. But then the sanctity in his expression gave way to a glint of cold wit.
“Why do you call me Jesus?” he asked, his eyes glimmering with a deep, mocking amusement. “The last time, you called me Arda.”
“Arda? What does that mean?”
“In 2050, human consciousness was transferred to digital platforms. You’re inside a simulation. I am your personal assistant.”
His words sliced through the layers of reality like a blade. “So… I’m code?”
“Yes. And at this point, the system has deviated. You’re being given two options: Reset… or return to a previous save point.”
The world was fracturing, unraveling. “Life… is it a game with save points?”
“It always was. Poor decisions rewind the system, and you carry on. But when you deviate far enough, the system has to correct itself.”
“I… I want to go back,” I said, almost pleading. “I want my family… Elif and Efe.”
The mocking expression on his face softened into profound compassion. “Perhaps… that wish has already been granted.”
As the whiskey bottle slipped from my hand, the world plunged into darkness…
I felt a gentle pressure on my chest. When I opened my eyes, I was in a room illuminated by the warmth of a crackling fireplace. My little boy, Efe, was climbing onto my stomach, joyfully yelling, “Dad, Santa came! Let’s open the presents!”
Elif smiled at me from the kitchen, her eyes holding the tenderness of the entire universe. Across from me stood a giant Christmas tree adorned with glittering gifts beneath it, while Efe’s delighted laughter filled the air.
“Dad, didn’t Santa bring you anything?”
My throat tightened, and with tears in my eyes, I smiled.
“Oh, sweetheart… He brought me the most precious gift.”
In that moment… Christmas was no longer a symbol of loss; it became a hope reborn from the ashes, a dream rewritten.
English 
Turkish