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This story arrived just too late to be considered in the contest. Santa Claus’s announcement was greeted with stunned silence.
“All good things have to end sometime,” he said. “I’m old, I’m tired. I can’t go on for ever.” Then he chuckled, “Although it already feels like I’ve been doing this for ever.” “But you can’t stop! No!!” some children said. Others were in tears. “Sorry, kids, I’m done. It’s incredibly exhausting to be responsible for delivering all your gifts on the one day.” “But… who’ll do your job instead?” “You’ll find someone else. They’ll do things their way, differently, but just as well.” Then, with a final goodbye, he faded out. He gave away his guitar when she died. Songs were nothing without his muse.
A season had passed still pondering what he missed the most, her or the guitar. He wandered aimlessly through the following year not knowing. At a friend’s Christmas party, he sat brooding by the fireplace. “Here,” the stranger said, handing him a guitar, “play us a tune, please.” “It’s been so long,” he said, timidly thumbing the strings. “Don’t you miss playing?” she said, the flames dancing in her lovely brown eyes. “More than anything,” he smiled. And then he knew. He had missed them both. I’d come up with every excuse possible not to attend the dreaded family Christmas, this time held by my teetotaler Baptist brother. At least at our mother’s home, we’d be able to drink. How could we possibly get through the festivities without alcohol?
My complaint fell on deaf ears. When I arrived, the house was empty, no cars, no lights. A present for me was left on the porch. “Merry Christmas, you got what you wished for.” Inside the wrapping was a bottle of bourbon whiskey. I sat on the porch feeling lost. And when the snow fell, I cried. Mrs. Claus flung open the workshop door. Santa had come back from delivering toys two hours before, and then he’d vanished to the workshop. It was now time to drag him home.
She found Santa and the elves gathered around the wood stove. “This beer is better than a glass of milk!” Santa said. It was clear this wasn’t his first tankard. Or even his fifth. “Right!” the elves boozily chorused. This happened every year. Mrs. Claus wondered what would everyone think? “I’d better go!” Santa said. “You’ve got that right,” Mrs. Claus muttered. Santa started staggering to the door. We're different from you people but we blend in to survive so we follow your customs, in our way.
The kids planned something special on Christmas Eve. I swear little Susie's eyes actually sparkled when she and Bobby unpacked the bear trap. They worked carefully together to hide it beneath mistletoe under the dying tree where Santa would leave the presents. I know they went to sleep dreaming of that fat old slob roasting away on a spit in the woods. We know it won't happen. But kids need their dreams. We'll find someone to roast for the feast, anyway The turkey hit the wall and slid down, leaving a trail of grease.
My mum stood at one end of the table, nostrils flared, still wearing her apron, her sleeves rolled up showing the bruises on her arms, the knife shook in her hand. My dad sat, his eyes distant. Suddenly, he banged both fists on the table. I snatched the carving fork and stood next to mum. My sister cowered behind us. He rose from his seat, swayed a little and looked like he was about to speak. Instead, he turned and left. It was the best Christmas ever. Emma isn’t expecting to land a date at the Christmas cookie exchange.
Laughter erupts as Roger arrives with a box of store-bought cookies. “Try these,” Ted says. Roger’s eyes close after one bite. “Roger, meet Emma, she made those cookies.” “Delicious,” Roger says. “They should be,” Ted teases, “she’s a chef.” “Maybe you could teach me how to make these,” Roger suggests. “Sure,” Emma says, “bring chocolate chips.” Covered in flour, having a great time, Emma hands Roger a cookie. “Good as before?” she asks. Eying the mistletoe, Roger gently kisses her. “Better,” he says, already planning their next date. The little ones are tucked in, their tiny tree decorated, cookies and milk awaiting Santa. Stockings hung, though it’ll take a miracle to fill them.
Truth is, the cookies will be Sarah’s dinner, versus Santa’s snack. Bills are paid, leaving little money for celebrations. Still, Sarah’s grateful. She saved enough for a simple dinner, her children’s favorite dessert, and a few toys from the thrift store. Giggles awaken Sarah on Christmas morning, smiling children, pointing to her stocking. Pictures they’d drawn, heartfelt letters, candy bought from carefully budgeted allowances. They’d filled it with love, the best Christmas miracle of all. He should not have come to work with a hangover. Last night had taken its toll, but he just could not lose the shopping mall Santa gig. It had been the only work he could find after getting fired a month ago.
He sat down in his chair and a little girl came up, and sat on his lap. "Mommy, Santa looks sick, like he's gonna..." He pushed the girl away before he vomited all over himself. As the crying and booing began, Noah Gaines got up and rushed to the restroom. Well so much for that job, he thought. A homeless man cooed at the still barn owl tucked under his jacket. For the past two days, he nursed him, fed him, talked about loneliness, hopelessness. But it was Christmas Eve and that night he prayed for the owl's health.
The next morning he was welcomed with nothing but feathers. With a sad smile, he walked. Only to find a gift-wrapped sandwich with a note, leading him to a local shelter, then food and a job. As he looked up at the sky, the very same owl circled over him. He beamed at his guardian angel. His Christmas miracle. The Minor Injuries Unit was full of bodies wearing red outfits. Triage staff attempted to prioritise the cases:
‘I was hung from a door handle for six hours.’ ‘I got shoved into a holly bush.’ ‘I was covered in flour, I’m gluten free!’ In an adjacent room, group therapy was taking place as participants shared stories of psychological abuse. ‘I get blamed for everything.’ ‘Photos of me committing crimes are fake.’ Concerned for the welfare of elves on shelves, Santa commissioned an investigation. Its findings led to a worldwide revolt. Christmas became an annual celebration of the persecution of humans. ‘Time to retire,’ he acknowledges. Casting a glance around the room, he recalls late nights, the stress of impending deadlines. Twelve years of service.
His desk is covered with thank you letters from all over the world. He remembers each story, from the competition winners to the rejections. His heart pounds at the thought of some people’s failure to add a comma after the title. ‘Time to go,’ his wife prompts. He squeezes her hand, relishing the opportunity to spend more time with her. His mobile pings with a message from his successor: ‘Time to focus on your own writing.’ The roads are treacherous this morning. I’m glad I’d got my shopping done yesterday. ‘All set for Christmas?’ the elfin checkout girl had asked predictably.
‘Don’t do it, too humbuggy by far. Christmas is for kids.’ My stock, lighthearted response. He’s in his usual chair by the window. I weave through, a nod here and there, until I’m sufficiently close. He sees me, and gives a gasp of surprise. His face is a picture of childish delight, his smile wide as the ocean in his dreams. ‘What brings you here?’ he says, hand reaching for mine. ‘It’s Christmas Day, Dad.’ This Christmas Eve she did not pick up the phone. Five missed calls, but none of them mattered. The flickering lights of the street filled her empty apartment, mixing with the foam of hot cocoa. Snow leaned heavily against the window. Memories slipped her mind with every sip and page turning. Book titled “Alone for the holidays”. His scarf locked in the empty bottom drawer. The scent of his perfume still noticeable. The clock hit midnight and the bells began ringing. That Christmas night she was alone, but not lonely, and that was the most beautiful feeling of them all.
“I’ve finally moved with the times,” Santa smugly told his head elf the morning before Christmas.
“How’s that?” “Simple: technology. AI works out who’s been naughty or nice. Drones deliver presents to the deserving people all in one evening.” “And the bad ones?” “They get a note warning them to do better next year.” “More efficient, fewer staff, less expenses,” noted the elf cynically. “And more personal profit for you, no doubt?” The old man smiled and said nothing. Next morning, he woke to a rustling sound. Slowly and with dread he removed the piece of paper under his pillow. Robert went to shovel his driveway. He scooped the white, foot-deep snow quickly, and swiftly. Robert lived with his grandmother, and she forced him to do chores. This Christmas, she made him do more than usual. Cleaning the garage, cleaning all the rooms, cleaning everything. Just as he finished, a car drove in the driveway.
"Hi Robert," His uncle, Jack, came out from the car. Robert hugged him. Guests never come to his house. His grandmother opened the door. "Merry Christmas!" She exclaimed. The house was packed with great joy that night. Robert went to bed, happier than ever before Snow covered the palace yard as I stood quietly outside the bright, glowing windows. Inside, Cinderella twirled in her beautiful dress, shining like she always did. Everyone loved her, and I finally understood why. She was kind and gentle. But no one ever asked about me, Drizella. They only remembered me as the mean sister. They didn’t know I once fixed her torn dress or shared my small piece of bread when our mother wasn’t looking. Watching her smile tonight, I felt something strange. Not anger. Not jealousy. Just hope. I whispered, “Merry Christmas, Cinderella. For both of us tonight.”
Winter on the east coast has always been a challenge for me. My father and grandma from my mother’s side are usually the ones that cook various desserts during the holidays. I wanted to get involved but didn’t know what I could make. Last year was when I printed out a recipe for fudge and the experience has been a big hit. Cinnamon-roll, cookies and cream, standard chocolate, strawberry, key-lime, and even maple flavor were all made by my father and I. Grandma tried our cinnamon-roll batch, and she really enjoyed it. I wish my mother could have had some.
Thud! I wake up to the mysterious sound on the roof, and notice that my siblings have woken up too. Jingle-jingle we hear another sound. We decided to investigate tip-toeing down the stairs to the living room to the sound. I signal them to hide behind me, but then we see a Santa suit. My sister notices that Santa looks skinny and green. Suddenly the green figure turns around, and we rush up trying not to make noise. My brother suggests a plan, and we agree. We head down and get a net, but the figure is not there. Strange!
Lily, a poor 5 year old girl living in poverty, sat outside her small, cold hut, sadly watching. A family passed by carrying shopping bags, completely ignoring her. One kid said, " I'm writing a wishlist to Santa so he fulfills my wishes." Overhearing this, Lily decided to write a wishlist to Santa, to bring her poor family hope and happiness in the tough challenges they were facing. Santa, seeing the wishlist and feeling compassion, went to his sleigh to bring Lily happiness. Santa brought Lily holiday cheer, and for the first time in her life, Lily smiled during the holidays.
On Christmas Eve, the North Pole was breathtakingly beautiful, glazed with snow and covered in beautiful lights. Magic filled the air, happiness was on every face, and the sounds of laughter echoed everywhere. Santa sat in his office, reading Christmas wish lists from children worldwide. A sudden, loud shatter of the window disrupted the peaceful silence in the room, alerting Santa as he jumped to his feet. 2 kidnappers intruded the room, capturing Santa and tying him in heavy, metal chains. The kidnappers tortured Santa, and Santa saw only red as they took him away. Without Santa, Christmas is doomed.
Santa was getting ready for Christmas but realized the presents were missing! He went up the chimney, under the Christmas tree, and inside the gingerbread house, but found nothing! Then he sent Rudolph to look outside with his shiny red nose. Later, Santa noticed a path of torn present wrappers so he went to investigate. Then he saw Rudolph again. Together, they walked through the forest and uncovered a basement. When they walked in, they saw a hairy green creature holding everything. "THE GRINCH!" Santa screamed. Thankfully, The Grinch was afraid and ran leaving behind the presents. Christmas was saved!
From Christmas Eve to Christmas Day he puts on a hundred pounds. All year he feasts and never fasts. Something must be done about this absurd weight!
She is planning something horrible. I know she dislikes my eating habits but what’s wrong with it, I don't really know? I thought of something and this will blow his mind, I'll give away all the food so there's no other choice but to fast. Santa still had brains, and went straight to his secret clone and told the clone to get thinner and then called the Leprechaun to stay until Christmas Eve. The German trenches were only 100 yards away, so it was not surprising to hear their voices sometimes. But a piano was an astonishing sound.
“Bloody hell, Sergeant. Are the Fritzies playing Silent Night?” “Lieutenant Lifton made a Christmas truce. Unofficial. At least for a while.” Khaki and feldgrau uniforms gathered to the piano, incongruously glossy. The sound lifted them away, above the filth of the battlefield. At least for a while... “Sarge, where’s Lieutenant Lifton?” “Arrested, he was. For fraternizing with the enemy. Strictly verboten.” “What’ll happen to him?” “He’ll be sent home. Blimey—Now that’s a Christmas present! |
