Read the small print
I know it is an extremely remote possibility but just in case you find yourself given a similar choice, it is best you know, that they do not lie, but do bend the truth. There will be some who will say I should have known better, for as a child Santa Claus never came to visit kids like me. I was one of those less fortunate lost children who spent chilly winter nights huddled together around the air conditioning outlets of the giant tower blocks, to keep warm. Well, that is until they are chased away by the whistle-blowing bogeys, who are wrapped up nice and warm in their scary black uniforms, waving fearsome truncheons. Those shadowy monsters did not have a clue or more likely did not care, that they might well be sentencing those children to death, just like my bestie, Rusti, who got her name from the flaming red hair, which flowed in long wavy curls down her back, and to her bitter end, she was my one faithful friend.
It was on this dismal Christmas Eve the reindeer found me, why Santa allowed them to stop for just another wretched street urchin, I will never know. I stood all alone crying over Rusti's frail and brittle body, it lay curled up in a tight ball, it was not unusual for a child to freeze to death in the snowy hollows, where we sought shelter from the howling wind and driving snow. Like magic, the reindeer appeared from the blizzard and an old man dressed from head to toe in red, stepped down from the sleigh they towed and wrapped me in a giant cloak. His little helpers rushed around, sprinkling sparkling dust on Rusti and in its golden light she began to rise, there was a slight flicker of light and she vanished in what looked like a Christmas Tree bauble into the starlit sky. After lifting me onto his sleigh where it was surprisingly warm, the old man told me a short and fascinating story of a magical land free from fear, made from sweets, candy, and all things nice, with lots of toys and loads of other little people to play with. It was the promise of that story which lured me from the streets and once I had agreed to go, he said the journey would be over in a flash, and that the next stop was the Ice Pole and true to his word we arrived there in the blink of an eye. I cannot lie it was fun for many years, I certainly did not grow up fast, but it turns out that the other little people were elves, which only became clear to me as I slowly grew older and taller. It took a long time, but I had grown to be a man in a family where my adopted brothers and sisters had hardly aged, it was like growing up in a bizarre but loving nursery. There were times when I wondered how it was possible that Mr and Ms Claus could have so many kids, naively believing, that all the children came from the streets just like me, to live in a mystical home for lost souls until it became obvious that this was not true. However, it was not until coming of age that they told me most of the Ice Pole's secrets, mind you I still have no idea who is pulling the strings, but that is another story. However, those secrets revealed that my original assumption was almost true, for the children had been gathered from streets around the world, which explains why they all looked so different. Each child had an inherent skill for which they had been chosen and as a reward, they were gifted with a life where they remained young and happy employed in the use of those skills, although as I have learnt, nothing lasts forever.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Dreaming of a Bald Christmas
Short StoryThis is a challenge that tells of a time when Santa Claus contracts cancer, which messes with his Christmas planning, but helps through a happy light on his family history.
