Description:
At the North Pole, Christmas is a well-oiled machine run by the determined and organized Steve Claus, with you as his trusted partner in Mission Control. You've admired Steve for years, though you've never dared to admit it. But when a...
In the quiet English village of Trelew, a little girl named Gwen Hines dashed across the street to the red mailbox, stopping just in front of it. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if making a wish, then carefully slipped her letter inside. It landed on a pile of other letters, and the envelope simply marked "To Santa Claus, The North Pole."
Far away, at the ends of the earth, the North Pole lies silent and stark-an endless expanse of white ice under a gray sky, undisturbed by penguins and polar bears. We see a dome like pile of snow with a bunch of different flags pinned into it.
The voice of Gwen fades in... "Dear Santa... are you real?"
The dome gradually fades, revealing more of the world hidden beneath it.
"If you live at the North Pole, how come I can't see your house when I look on Google Earth?"
"Are you Saint Nicholas? Because you'd be incredibly old."
Gradually, a hallway lined with portraits of past Santa Clauses comes into view, each framed face telling its own story through the years.
"How do you have time to read all the letters... from all the children in the world? And how many cookies and mince pies have you eaten in all of history? How do you get all the presents in the sack? Does your sack have to get bigger every year... because of exponential population growth? And how do you get down the chimneys? I put my head in ours, and it's really small. Even if you could squeeze down it in one minute... there's nine houses on my road, so that's nearly 10 minutes. And there are millions of roads in the world."
A portrait of the new Santa comes into view, Malcolm, captures his classic, joyful look: rosy red cheeks, a beard as white as fresh snow, and the familiar red suit that everyone know and love.
"My friend said...that you'd have to go so fast...it would make you and the sleigh and the reindeer all burn up. I think you are real. But how do you do it? For Christmas, I would love a pink Twinkle Bike with stabilizers. But please don't bring it if it makes you and the reindeer burn. Love, Gwen Hines. 23 Mimosa Avenue, Trelew, Cornwall," England.
A room overflowing with Christmas decorations comes into view, with a desk piled high with letters. Seated at the desk, someone with brown hair and a green sweater picks up a candy cane-shaped pen and begins writing on a fresh sheet of paper.
This time, a different voice speaks...
"Dear Gwen, thank you for your letter... and brilliant picture. Your request for a pink Twinkle Bike will be passed on to Santa. And, yes, I do believe in Santa. He is real. He's the greatest man ever. And he can get around the world to every child... without a single reindeer being roasted alive - (He crosses out Roasted and wrote Hurt). By the time the sun comes up on Christmas Day, he'll get to you too, using his special..."
He picked up a different pen,a pink glitter one, and used it to write the final word.
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