Creation

Santa's Army

This chapter is an entry for Holiday Contest 2018 by the Once Upon Profile.

"Antarctica!" Ping said against the slapping gust to our faces, which brought a chunk of snow into my mouth. "Brr... Living tropical for a decade sure has affected me."

"No one told you to pretend to be a display on a toys store," I swerved lower.

It's going to take some time for the little penguin to get an igloo or a cavern, where we can take shelter until the horrid weather pulls back its force.

Endless nails pierced into my limbs, constricting my flesh and quicken my blood's flow.

A pair of arms heaved me upward, strong and firm.

We're advancing at the storm's speed, for the freeze has penetrated my cheeks that I can't swallow anything in my mouth.

. . .

"She's such a lazy sack." A childlike voice commented. "She has slept for an entire day!"

I sent the fur blanket flipping across the settlement—a stupid act considering how degraded the temperature is. Shivers intimidated me as I attempted to lean on the jagged walls behind me.

Ping smiled innocently at my side, a broken branch on his small wings.

"I saved you two from the brink of death." A deep, lighthearted voice interjected amidst the low crackling of the bonfire. Across the soft flicker of the orange flames, an elder sat cross-legged, his aging face stern with wisdom.

"Thickbeard—Santa Claus, pleased to meet you."

Impossible if this dirty-clothed and stocky man is the legend himself. Where are his reindeers and the sleigh? His elves? Reddish attributes?

"Ho-ho-ho." He beamed, exposing his crooked teeth. Plenty of marshmallow sticks lied near his huge boots. "Sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting any visitors."

"Aren't you supposed to be at your station? Christmas is less than a week."

He gave a forced smile, one which deflated my excitement like a bubble. Giant tears edged his lashes. "I've pensioned."

I gasped.

"Which is why you could find Ping in a display store." He sobbed like a child begging for candies. "All because an elf mistook a Mickey Mouse Tamagotchi to a Minnie Mouse one! I... resigned. It's better than... Goof, dropped from the sky. I... took responsibility of..."

Things are getting more nostalgic for the old Santa Claus.

"I..." He sniffed, which would make a mammoth ashamed at its trumpet. "Goof didn't deserve it. I don't deserve this either. And so are my loyalists, like Ping!"

"But Mickey Mouse and his betrothed are differentiable." I pressed on each sentence hard, staring at the pair of frozen-blue eyes. "Did someone put the blame on him? Like, messing up with the wishlist? That is, taking that Goof wasn't under the effects of alcohol—"

"This is a children-friendly environment!"

Ping stepped in. "The point is, things aren't always like what it looks like. We should confront the current Santa Claus, who replaced you."

"Thicknose?"

"Yeah. Now can I see your wrist?"

"What for?"

"There's an expiry date for your pass into the hut."

Santa glanced briefly at his tattooed wrist. "Every date starts and ends on December 25, only the year differs. Each Santa works for a duration of 20 years—"