This is how Christmas works these days. You have a child and then wait for what seems like months for a chance to meet Santa Claus. If we had any choice, we wouldn’t have queued in the snow and freezing temperatures for hours to see him. The truth is we can’t afford not to.
Finally, my wife, Ria, and I are next in line. An elf with a clipboard takes our details and then begins running through a prepared script.
“You understand that in donating you first born child to SantaCorp, any and all children you have in the future will be provided with free gifts at Christmastime?”
“Yes.” I answer.
“You understand that once you enter Santa’s grotto you cannot back out of the deal and the process must be completed?”
“Yes.”
“You understand that if either of you close your eyes or look away during the procedure the agreement will be void and SantaCorp will not acknowledge your donation?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Step through the double doors when you’re ready. He will see you now.”
Ria grabs my hand tightly as she holds our child to her chest. I can see her eyes filling with tears as we step through the double doors.
The sight of him makes me gag. His suit may once have been well-fitting, but his large, hairy stomach has ripped through it and rests on his lap. His long grey hair and beard haven’t been washed for some time; they are tangled and matted with blood.
I can’t decide what’s worse about this situation; the fact that he will devour our only child or that we have to watch.
—
Credits to: MikeTheBoomer
No comments:
Post a Comment