I am trying to learn how to write an entertaining
story, I present my latest hammock induced day dream, a continuation of an
earlier post, Before the Holiday
Season Starts, please forgive the poor editing.
A
Christmas Story
It is a beautiful day. Forty degrees below zero
with a light wind, snow piled in drifts, some twenty feet high. An exquisite
crystal clean white on white as far as the eye could see, with the muted sound
that only snow can create. Santa loved days like this, pleasant days before the
bitter cold of the perpetual midnight to come. He turned to his senior Elf
manager and asked. “Is everyone back from summer vacation?”
“Yes sir, tan and rested.” Answered Hitphen Icicle.
Santa took another long look around. The North Pole
ice was becoming thinner and increasingly unstable. A few more years and he
would have to abandon this toy factory. Fortunately he had started off-shoring
the work some years pass. Now he had a substantial presence at the South Pole
with more in the Russian Tundra, his favorite the well hidden toy factory in a
Norwegian fjord.
The work force had been another problem. The elf
population had not kept up with the world’s growing population of children. Finding
the leprechauns had been pure luck and then that young lady with her seven
dwarfs. Strange name that one, Sleeping Beauty. Mixing elves, leprechauns and
dwarfs created one problem after another, and those princes following Sleeping
Beauty around created even more problems. He couldn’t find anything they knew
how to do, handsome young men with no useful skills. Things just keep changing
for Santa and it was all he could do keeping abreast. He thought about what
that young lady from Wonder Land had told him yesterday.
“Well, in our country,” said Alice, still
panting a little, “you'd generally get to somewhere else — if you run very fast
for a long time, as we've been doing.”
It was all becoming so complicated. The young
ladies had taken to Mrs. Claus, and now the three were always together. Any
disagreement with Mrs. Claus and he would be running to save his skin. With a
sigh he headed to the primary military defense line.
Setting up military defensive positions had been an
endless waste of time and resources. First the elves kept turning the guard
towers into doll houses and rocking horses, and those princes prancing around
the parapets got in everyone's way. The unexpected solution came when the
leprechauns had found out that the gold paint in the warehouse contained real
gold. The leprechauns had assumed full responsibility for security, becoming
ferocious sentries. All this useless effort because some politician claimed
Santa had cost him an election. As he approached the concertina wire Patty McLuckleaf
popped out of nowhere and saluted. “All secured, Mr. Claus.”
Santa frowned. “Any problems this evening, Patty.”
“None,” Patty replied. “Most the enemy be dancing
for cameras and the rest be shooting each other. There be no danger from junior
bush leaguers, Mr. Claus.”
“How are the sentries?” Santa asked.
Patty smiled. “Most be sober, Mr. Claus, enough to
keep the gold safe.”
“Patty,” Santa sighed, “We must protect
everything.”
Patty snapped another salute. “That what I did
mean, Mr. Claus.”
Santa started back to the administration building.
He needed to hire more seasonal workers and was interviewing Arabic Genies and
Japanese Avatars this afternoon.
Then he had to make his list and check it twice.
The
Toy Factory reaches full production.
The toy factory was it
full production now. Santa beamed with pride looking over his multicultural
work force. Elves, Leprechauns, Dwarfs, Fairies, Gremlins, Genies and Avatars
all rushing about and creating an endless stream of toys, with a great cacophony
of sounds and magic. The reindeer out back running track getting in shape for
the big night. Oh, Santa did love his vocation. He had the world’s best job.
Taking a deep breath he laughed from his giant heart. “Ho,ho,ho, and a Merry
Christmas to all.” There were still new problems with every turn of the clock,
the unrelenting countdown to Christmas Eve. With perseverance and hard work
each new challenge fell in turn. Santa was dealing successfully with the
implacable change being forced on him, this year, as every year before; the
children of the world would be made happy. Santa would not fail. No, he would
not fail.
After he hired the
Arabian Genies a Predator Drone had zoomed out of the sky, launching missiles.
The gremlins clapped with joy upon seeing these aerial war machines. One cackle
of laughter and an eye blink later each missile and the drone had a gremlin
riding it. The drone preformed beautiful aerial acrobatics perfectly matched by
the missiles, a fantastic display which stopped all work with everyone cheering,
finally the aerial craft synchronized in a upward spiral, twisting about each,
while trailing colored smoke making a giant sky painting of DNA, gracefully
arcing over from great height and plunging earthward, to level out and
converge, with millisecond timing to the exact midpoint, this collision
creating an enormous ball of flame and sparklers drifting to earth. The Elves,
Leprechauns, Dwarfs, Fairies, Genies and Avatars danced and laughed, some
holding up score cards denoting top ratings for the Gremlins, Snow White and
Alice clapped and swirled, weaving to their own music. One of the princes did
trip over his sheathed sword and turn his knee. Normally Santa did not have to
worry about humans at his secret North Pole workshop, but he had anticipated this
change, Santa had imagined a small medical infirmary and the Toy Factory would
grow anything Santa could imagine. In short order the young prince was healed
and once again getting in everyone’s way.
While back at the
military control center, the Predator Drone performance graded as an
unmitigated catastrophe. Still more great entertainment followed for Santa with
the feckless politician shouting into news cameras, demanding who knew what,
when. All in all, a satisfying work rest for the Toy factory, the morale for
the Gremlins and Leprechauns had greatly improved. Santa suspected that, for
these two groups, work was not a particularly enjoyable pass time.
The whole idea of A War on Christmas flustered Santa. What
kind of fool started a war with leprechauns and gremlins? Now the Japanese
Avatars were training Kung Fu reindeer! Foolishness! Absurdity! Folly!
Preposterous silly tommyrot! But he did admit to himself it was quite
entertaining. Change could be good, or bad, depending on your attitude.
Next to visit, the
politician’s lawyers with their “cease and desist” order, demanding he stop
giving away free stuff. They would be surprised Christmas morning when they
found sacks of coal under their tree, each sack with a separate page from that
“cease and desist” order. That would be lot of sacks of coal. He’d need an
extra sleigh to carry all those sacks of coal. Maybe he’d let the Leprechauns
and Gremlins make that delivery. Then Santa shook his head, his heart told him that
wasn’t the true spirit of Christmas. Instead he would find the excellent
perfect gift for each and every lawyer, and then personally place it under
their tree. The “cease and desist” order, well, Santa would think of something.
Being magical did have advantages.
One
more reason to close this facility, Santa thought, the
North Pole being the worst kept secret workshop ever, even the CIA had found
this secret toy factory.
Then Santa heard sleigh
bells ringing and impetuously began singing “Tis the season to be jolly – Fa La
La La La – La La La La – Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” His face
creasing into a smile from ear to ear, Santa was not so easily turned from his
beloved task. He did have the world’s best job, and loved every second.
Meanwhile, the
ex-governor had relocated to one of his palaces, the one in the Cayman Islands.
He liked being near his money. As an
only child he had learned to keep his own council. Now he paced back and forth,
his stalking and grumbling interrupted occasionally with a growl. He had to
stop this communist Santa Claus from giving away free stuff to poor people. A
fat old man in a red suit, what greater proof that this Santa was a communist
than that bright red suit, for some small comfort he pulled out the map showing
his safe, solid red states, populations that enthusiastically supported him.
That sooth his ego some, but he needed more. He crossed the room, tripped the
biometric switch opening his private elevator, then rode deep underground to
his secret alcove. His special place, platinum trimmed mirrors with the floor
tiled in silver dollars. Ceiling embedded with rubies, pearls and diamonds all
shaped to represent the major currency symbols. In the center of the room his
special sofa, made with gold frame and stuffed with hundred dollar bills. He
lay back in his overstuffed sofa and relaxed, sinking into the comfortable soft
money matting. He loved money and money loved him. He started to relax; now he
could think clearly about the problem. He would crush this Santa Claus.
Christmas and his
birthday, both December 25th, he always felt cheated with only one
set of gifts. The other children had separate birthdays with parties and gifts,
their own personal day. He had to share his birthday with every other child in
the world, nothing special, and nothing just for him. Then when he was twelve
years old his parents had died in a freak car accident, on Christmas Eve.
His uncle had awakened
him on Christmas morning with news too terrible for a twelve year old. After
fifty years the memory still seared his soul. His bachelor uncle had become his
legal guardian. The rest of his teen years spent in private boarding schools
and on foreign study trips. His few friends leaving for a family Christmas
vacation while he stayed behind at the exclusive boarding schools. His uncle
did not return any of his calls, never wrote any letter. His Christmas presents
delivered by some employee, or arriving in a crate, expensive things he never
asked for, ponies and fast cars, Rolex watches and custom camping equipment,
all things he gave away to some of his few friends, often they would just give
away his gifts to someone else. He remembered an ugly gold laced ping pong
table he had hated, and gave away, passed around until someone he hardly knew
gave it back to him, and of course the large monthly checks he received for
“necessities”.
Oh, he did hate
Christmas.
As he grew and learned,
he came to think that his uncle was using his parents company to make himself
rich, rich and important. At 18 he had taken his legal rights as willed by his
parents. The first person he every fired was his uncle, and he sacked him on
Christmas Eve. This first employee termination was a wonderful cherished
memory. Over the years he had become very, very good at terminating employees
before Christmas. He even liked the word, Termination, it sounded good. He had
made billions of dollars with his simple business plan. Buy a solid well run
company, bleed it dry then file bankruptcy. The part where he took the
employee’s pension fund for his own uses was especially delightful. He always
timed the final blow for Christmas. A plan so simple and so easy, take all the
money and then burn the rest. The best Christmas present he could image.
Becoming the governor
of a state had been pure joy. He had spent the state’s funds on useless
projects, building power and influence with government favors and contracts. Political
considerations had prevented him from firing state workers before Christmas,
and he had to console himself with mass layoffs at the start of each year to “balance
the budget”, something the public always supported. He had left that political
position behind to reach for higher possibilities. Eventually, he had all in
place for his next political promotion, and then the Santa story had been gone
public. His heart felt belief that free stuff destroyed the moral fiber of
children, turning them into adult sloths, expecting undeserved redistribution
of the wealth from him and his fellow elites. Bah, hum bug. Christmas was
destroying America, indeed, destroying the whole world, but the masses of lazy bloodsuckers
failed to understand this, somehow, the population had changed, and he lost his
election to higher office, all of this was Santa’s fault.
He put aside his
cherished memories of terminations, ruined by memories of Christmas and Santa, and
turned his attention back to here and now. It was time for military fury,
direct coercion, the martial application of money to control and destroy. Once
he destroyed Santa he would return to politics and change everything back to
its proper order.
The military plan was
simple, destroy Santa’s sleigh and kidnap the reindeer. The budget lavish, cash
and credit unlimited, used to recruit the top free market mercenaries money
could buy. Former members of professionally trained national forces, American
navy seals, CIA, FBI and NSA, Bulgarian SOBT, Canadian 427 Special Ops, Chinese
Snow Leopard Commandos, Cuban Black Wasp, Danish SSR, French FKSOD special ops,
German Kommando Spezialkrafte, Indian Garud Commandos, Israeli Shayetet,
Mexican Fuerzas Especiales, Norwegian Spesialkommando, Russian Spetsnaz,
Swedish Operationsgruppen, Swiss Spezialkrafte, Turkish Jandarma, and some
British Coast Guard, blended with the toughest civilian professionals
available, Samurai, Knights, Mongols, Shaolin monks,
and a few old female college English
professors.
Language and
communications had been a problem until all started using hand signals, with
the English professors brutally correcting finger placement. The ex-governor
beamed with the pride of what money could do, he had hired the world’s best
retired generals to plan this operation. Greed never changed, it was always
solid and predictable, the one constant since he had fired his uncle.
The attack would begin
with sunrise. If he had hired a weatherman he’d have known that was about March
19th 2013. But he had not hired any climate scientist; he had banned
any mention of climate science from his organization, for obvious and necessary
political reasons, and was unaware of the gaping hole in his grand plan.
The sergeants had spotted
this fatal flaw at their first briefing, now they looked forward to a long,
high paid and safe, duty assignment. Three of the sergeants had concocted a
scheme that used marksmanship training. One scheduled target practice and a
platoon, then cases of ammunition was issued for the training exercise, another
of the sergeants marched the soldiers around before returning them to the
barracks, then the sergeant took the unused ammunition and resold it back to
the supply sergeant. The three noncoms met at a local bar, split the money then
toasted a beer to the ex-governor’s largess. Now they had an extra three months
of additional income. Life was good. The sergeants huddled in the back of the
bar, planning their own plans, if the idiot in charge every got close to a real
fight, they would have their platoons on the other side of the planet.
“The ex-governor can’t
be serious about this, only an idiot would attack Gremlins and Leprechauns.”
The Training sergeant commented.
“Never underestimate
the ego, conceit and stupidity of a politician.” The supply sergeant replied.
On base, at the command
post, the ex-governor felt good, everything was moving to perfection. He was
checking every detail himself, satisfied that his money was well spent. He
reviewed the training records; the troops had spent a staggering amount of time
and money on target practice. He smiled to himself, enjoying the warm feeling
of creating that razor sharp spear he wanted, even needed, for this Santa
Claus.
He was on a roll and
would now tidy up one more nagging issue. He was an only child and the
explanations from his uncle had never added up, he was going to get the truth
this time.
“Why did my parents
never have more children?” He demanded.
“Your mother was
barren. She couldn’t have children.” His uncle responded.
“She couldn’t have children? Huh- what? -How?
– Where did I come from?”
“You were adopted. Once
the doctor verified that your mother couldn’t have children, -well, - she cried
herself to sleep every night for months. Your father gave her all kinds of
gifts. Nothing could console her.”
“He bought her a child
born on Christmas as gift?” The ex-governor whispered.
“No. I don’t know when,
or where, you were born. We found you under the Christmas tree.”
The ex governor sat
frozen and still, shocked with his mind fogged. He was the child of Father
Christmas? His world shifted and he was lost. WHO, WHAT WAS HE!
Meanwhile, back at
Santa’s workshop, the Genies had completed all the calculations, with the
world’s vast population Santa would need an assistant to ride with him, for the
first time ever, he needed help, even magic has limits against the constant
changes confronting Santa. The Genies had originally invented numbers,
replacing those silly Roman numerals, there was no chance they were wrong. He
needed help; he needed someone that believed completely in the Christmas
spirit. There need be a second sleight this Christmas, there were not enough
reindeer, but he knew some unicorns looking for a little excitement, change did
create many wondrous opportunities.
He had no answer for now, other than work hard and believe, he returned to
making his list of all the good little boys and girls, then checking it twice.
The ex-governor had his
personal jet readied to fly back to the forward assault camp at the North Pole.
His head spinning with the story his uncle had told him, his knees almost
buckled as he climbed the ramp into his jet. He took his regular custom-made
seat, so distracted he never noticed that he was alone. He bowed his head into
his hands and moaned. He did not feel the plane taxi to take off, align with
the runway, then the acceleration to flight, climbing to 60,000 feet. He
finally looked up, the entire passenger area empty, “Where are my Generals!” he
shouted.
“They are coming with
the troop ships, just before dawn.” The intercom answered.
He sat in silence,
tears blurring his vision, teeth clenched, stomach knotted, his face like
stone, flying north alone.
It hardly registered
that he had arrived, sometime during the flight he had split in two, he felt as
a spectator, like he was outside his own body watching someone else pretending
to be him. He managed to get out of the jet and walked to the main compound.
Behind him the jet returned to the runway and blasted skyward. All was dark and
quiet, empty of soldiers, even the machinery was still. He entered the ready area
and found one person, a Colonel, fastening snow shoes to his feet, a heavy pack
next to him.
“What - happened?” Ask the ex-governor.
“The Leprechauns and Gremlins
hit us”, the Colonel answered, “Every atom of gold gone, all the electronics
useless, nothing works. We didn’t lose a single soldier and the battle lasted
only seconds. Most of the troops got out on transports; the rest packed and
started a long march south. I’m the last.”
“You can’t abandon the
mission! I paid good money for all of you! Get back to your post! Get everyone
back!”
“You can always fire
me, Sir. If not, I quit.” The Colonel said, then shouldered his pack and left.
The ex-governor sank to
his knees. He felt the cold. He felt the loneliness. He now knew the troop
ships would never arrive. The dark closed on him. Then he passed out. The elves
found him huddled in a ball. Moaning and groaning softly, shoulders shaking.
They feared he was dying. They took him to the North Pole toy factory. Santa
would know what to do, Santa always knew what to do.
Santa watched as the
Elves brought in the ex-governor, he remembered placing him under the Christmas
tree after finding him abandoned in front of a fire station. He had believed he had found the perfect gift
for that beautiful, loving young woman. As a child he had barely made the good
little boy list, usually his mother’s firm hand had pushed him onto the good
little boy list, then with the tragic Christmas Eve accident, he had changed. Santa's
disappointment grew with each following year, the ex-governor had never made
his good little boy list again.
As Mrs. Claus examined
the ex-governor she could see that his problem was not physical, instead, his
soul was small, crumpled, dark and fast evaporating. Pixy dust would be no help
here. She had him taken to the infirmary and went to consult Santa. Between
them they formed a plan; the ex-governor would have to heal himself, all they
could do it provide the setting.
The ex-governor started
to waken, slowly, painfully, parts of his mind closed to him, something he
could not remember, something he did not want to remember. He realized he was
warm, comfortable and nothing actually hurt, but something inside, deep inside,
did hurt. He opened one eye, a ceiling, a simple ceiling with model aircraft
hanging on strings. He opened both eyes and visually swept the room. He was lying
in a bed, modeled after a vintage car, an old model T ford, and the walls a
blended colorful explosion with stripes and contrasting base board. A small
tidy room, small but big enough, the
perfect size, he thought. Next to the bed a toy box shaped like a giant
frog, the lid slightly open, as if bulging with contents. He pushed back the
bedding covers and sat upright, swinging his legs over the side. He was dressed
in simple white cotton pajamas, darks vertical strips and no pockets. A small
bedside table with a glass of brown liquid and a plate of cookies, he took the
glass and sipped, warm chocolate milk, the milk and cookie surprisingly filling.
He stood legs still a
little shaky and walked to the toy box, knelt and opened the lid. All the toys
he had really wanted as a teenager. All the things he had always secretly
wanted, but dared not tell anyone, simple things, games to play with others,
letters by his mother, pictures of him and his parents – well his step parents
really –, he grasp toys and tried to keep them, but he had no pockets, he fell
down and started to cry. Slowly he changed, slowly he understood, it is not the
gift, it is the memory that brings lasting joy.
The future emerges
seamlessly from the past, and we occupy that small moment in between the past
and the future, the immutable pass with the future a fluid unknowable ball of
tangled string. This constant change created by our movement from the past to
the future requires contextualization and rationalization to maintain sanity,
thus we call it our destiny. Each of us have a destiny, for good or evil; with
this realization he accepted his destiny and changed. Fairy tales make reality
bearable. In the end we have to save ourselves.
As his strength
returned he wandered about the complex, a hand full of moderate sized buildings,
without any tangible connection to reality, the interior of the buildings
seemed limitless, he would enter one building and upon exiting find he was at a
completely different building, he could understand no possibility of how this was so.
Santa let him use one
of the small sleights pulled by a single reindeer, and had Patty McLuckleaf
ride with him so he wouldn’t get lost. They went to his old forward military
base camp and found nothing. The barracks, the vast hangers, the comm. Center
and the command building all gone, no sign they had ever been, Patty explained
everything had been recycled into toys. A single transport plane could be
converted to toys for a million children. He looked around the area, no oil
stains or debris, not even ruts to indicate previous roads, all pure white snow
in natural banks marching out to the end of his vision. All the battlements and
fortification that had surrounded Santa’s toy factory complex also completely
gone. All his efforts to destroy Santa, every sign of his war on Christmas
gone, sometimes he wondered if any of it had really happened, there was no
physical proof but his memories
remained, and his memories confirmed his foolishness, his folly, his life
without any meaningful purpose. It was on one of these sleigh rides that Patty
told him of Santa’s problem.
So it came to be that
he rode with Santa on Christmas Eve across the whole of the world, secretly
placing gifts under Christmas trees for all the good little boys and girls.
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