a seasonal story (fiction)

I wrote this Nov. 22, 2005. It is just silly story, and I figure it would be an appropriate post, given the time of year. :)

Santa hates me. Believe it, it’s true. Every year he gives me a lump of coal. Sure, you now think that I’m just on the naughty list, but that’s not it, or at least not all of it. You see, the reason I’m sure he really hates me is because the lump of coal he gives me isn’t just any lump of coal, it’s a smoldering lump of coal. Hot, to the point where I reach into my stocking and remove my hand with 3rd degree burns. And even after several years of that, I wasn’t sure what was going on. So last year, when I sent out my wish list up to the North Pole, I ended my list with: “anything but a smoldering lump of coal.” I anticipated that Christmas. I could feel it; I wasn’t going to get a lump of coal. I’d even made sure to be extra good, so that he wouldn’t have any reason to have me on his naughty list.

Christmas Eve came, and I made sure to go to sleep before my bedtime, I really didn’t want to give Santa any reason to think I only deserved a lump of coal.

I woke up early the next morning and ran to the tree. My stomach flip-flopped when I saw all of the packages beneath the tree. They shimmered in all their different papers, the lights from the tree reflected in the metallic parts of the paper, creating a magical holiday glow on the walls.

Everyone else was still sleeping, but I just had to take a peek. I tip-toed to the tree and carefully moved the presents around, checking tags, and examining the sizes of all the boxes.

And then I spotted it. It was the biggest, shiniest, most desirable package, by far. No way could this present be for me. It seemed so wonderful, but I kept away. I figured there was no reason to get my hopes up, because there was no way I’d gone from smoldering lumps of coal to this euphoria inducing package. I continued to scan the other gifts, but my eyes kept falling back on the large parcel. Needless to say, my curiosity got the best of me, and I checked the tag. I’m sure my heart stopped momentarily when I saw the words: To: Amelia From: Santa

I felt a tingle run through my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I almost couldn’t contain my excitement. I had to walk away from the tree. I knew if I didn’t my little hands would rip that paper off before you could say “Merry Christmas!”

I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of hot chocolate. I knew nobody would be up for hours, though, and the suspense was killing me, I had to find out who that present was for.

I didn’t even finish my drink before I tip-toed back into the den to examine the gift further. I was sure I’d made a mistake when I’d read the tag earlier. Sure that it couldn’t be for me, so I checked again, and again, and again. There was no mistaking it. Santa was giving me a glorious second chance. No more lumps of coal.

Well, my excitement over this idea got the better of me, and before I knew it I was standing with shiny paper crumpled around my feet, and the most intricately designed toy chest before me. It had a glistening, gold-plated latch, shaped like a star. And when I say star, I don’t mean a plain 5-point star that people commonly think of, I mean a large, glorious star, like the star that shone in the sky to welcome baby Jesus must have looked like.

The house was silent with sleep, but I still looked around, checking for anyone who might be sneaking a peek to get me in trouble, before I reached out my trembling fingers to lift the latch and see if there was anything inside.

I gently twist and lift the latch, then slid my fingers under the lid and began to gently raise it up. At first it didn’t seem like there was anything, but as I continued to lift the lid further, a spark lit, and before I knew it there was a small fire illuminating the almost empty box.

I ran into the kitchen and filled up a pitcher with water as quickly as I cold, and ran back to the box. The lid was still open, and flames were jumping out of it, gasping for air, and sending up puffs of smoke. I held the pitcher with both hands and steadily poured water over the flames. Once the fire was out, and the smoke had cleared, I looked into the chest to see what had been on fire. It looked like a bunch of wet, brown paper with burn marks.

Upon closer inspection I found what must have once been a brown paper sack. And I’m sure Santa was having a good laugh as I found out what the contents of the bag were. That’s right; Santa gave me a flaming bag of poop for Christmas. And just my luck, shortly after I had disposed of the contents of the toy chest my parents walked into the den. The mere sight of the crumpled wrapping paper on the floor had them near rage, and then the fading smell of smoke and waste had them raving for an explanation.

I was speechless. How was I supposed to explain to my parents that Santa hates me, and sent me a flaming bag of poo for Christmas?

All I could do was look at my feet, and try to find the right words to tell my parents that I no longer wanted to celebrate Christmas.