It starts with dancing.  Eating, drinking, making merry.  And presents.  Lots and lots of presents.  Trifling baubles and gewgaws, designed to catch the eye, to mesmerise.  To enchant.  The wakeup call comes later.  When thoroughly entrenched, there is a cough.  Nothing harsh, maybe just a clearing of the throat.  Small, but insistent, it jars against the pink, sugared walls of the confectionery surrounding life.  A crystal or two falls.  A crack appears.  A sudden conflagration, and playtime is over.  The ball finally drops, and all that is left are myriad questions to which there are no answers, only more questions.