Abby entered her dark apartment and closed the door behind her securely. She opened the lights and took a deep breath, hearing a telltale wheeze coming from within her chest, telling her that she has the beginnings of an asthma attack — something she always gets when it’s too cold, or when she smells smoke, two of which are present outside.It always happens this time of the year, the end of the year, to be specific. Abby is a chronic asthmatic. She got the asthma from her mother’s side of the family, passed down to her from her great-great-grandmother dow to her, missing all the males in the family. She used to be really sickly as a child; anything could trigger her asthma. As she grew up, she got less attacks, but it was always bad right before New Year’s because of the cooler weather and all the firecracker smoke outside.

She reached inside her bag for her inhaler and took a puff, tasting rough and bitter medicine on her tongue as she inhaled deeply. She waited to feel a bit ease in breathing before going to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of ginger tea.

Abby was glad that the New Year’s mass at her village was done a lot earlier than other places. At least there wasn’t much firecracker smoke yet. If the mass was done any time later, she would not be able to go out at all until the next day where people still light firecrackers even in the midday. At least now she can eat her small New Year’s dinner alone and watch the fireworks from her window — tightly closed so no smoke would come in, of course.

Her kettle whistled, and she poured hot water over the powdered ginger tea. She mixed it, took a small sip and then walked slowly to the living room window, where she would watch the fireworks later. Abby pulled the curtains open and looked at the kids running up and down the street, laughing and running away from the firecrackers they just light up. Loud pops and explosions can be heard near and far as everyone is getting ready for the turn of the year. She could see the parents of the children outside their house, calling their kids, probably for dinner…which reminds her she should start eating.

She closed the windows again and walked back to her kitchen to get the baked macaroni she cooked for New Year’s. Ever since she started living alone, she hardly cooked a lot of food, even for the holidays. What’s the use, she thought, no one’s going to eat it besides her anyway.

As she heated the pasta, she suddenly felt melancholic, something she hasn’t felt for a long time. She watched the round plate twirl around inside the microwave, its quiet hum joining in with the explosions outside, forcing the sad feeling away. She turned around to get a plate when she heard an unexpected noise.

Ding dong!

It was the doorbell.

“Now who could that be?” Abby wondered out loud. She put the plate on the table and walked to the door, curious at who would come at this time, especially at this night.