Reddit Stories 2019

The Christmas Brat

'Twas the day before Christmas, and though he did play,
Little Greg, a young boy, had no joy on this day.

He hummed and he hawwed at the toys from last year,
And he whined to his mom that they weren't newer gear.

His cries carried far, and his cries carried loud,
His cries carried past the unbreakable shroud.

'Twas the day before Christmas, and nestled in bed,
Was a demon of shadow and greed and the dead.

He tossed and he turned at the noise from above,
And he finally burst from his cave and his love.

'Shut the fuck up,' said he, with no metre or rhyme,
To be frank, a complete disregard for this line.

A scream and a yell, and a run for the door,
But scared as he was, Greg still stuck to the floor.

'Please don't hurt me mister,' said Greg, with frustrating prose,
He feared that the fire would burn off his toes.

'You whine and you whine,' said the demon to he,
'But you never said thanks to your mother and me.'

'What?' asked Greg, not having a clue,
If the demon's new statement was in metre too.

'On this night of December, I fly in the sky,
And give gifts to the children, so that they don't cry,

'My goal is to take all the souls of the youth,
But I only said youth, cause it rhymes more than kids.

'Damn it.'

'So I'm going to hell?' asked Greg, with tears in his eyes,
Having lost both the metre and heavenly prize.

'Of fucking course not,' the demon did say,
'You're a brat and a bastard. I won't let you stay.

'Do not think for a minute that you are now safe,
When you die, you will turn to an afterlife waif.'

'Then why should I change?' Greg did ask, ba da dame.
'If in death, I then have a cursed fate all the same'

'A good point that you make,' thought the demon aloud,
'Till you change, I shall curse your short youth,' he avowed.

'You have what you have and you'll get nothing more.'
With a fire and flame and a demonic roar,
He turned all Greg's presents to ash on the floor.

Greg cried and he cried as the toys burned away,
Along with my couplets that provided the only consistency,
Throughout this whole poem

'Twas the day before Christmas, and done with his work,
The demon called Santa then left with a smirk.