Delusion

Delusion, part 1

He wasn't very far away. Eight feet or so from the edge. That was all. His breaths were short and nervous. He was dressed up as a man accustomed to spreading happiness, and yet was being deprived of it.

The streets were adorned with the shining lights, customary at this time of the year. A jovial atmosphere enveloped the vicinity. Christmas Eve brought along with it several forms of happiness and joy.

And his was the biggest role to play. Albeit it's one he refused to play now. The harbinger of glee, the token of delight, loved universally. The man whose smile mirrored itself on the faces of million others.

Santa's legs wobbled at the proposition. Seven feet, and he would find himself in a perpetually jocund company. The lights of the city glared back at him, though it was perplexing to decide whether it was out of rage at his fallacy, or grief at his decision.

Either way, they lighted the path to the descent. Santa could hear the gleeful and high pitched shrieks of the children playing eight floors beneath him, in the garden.

He was a failure, or so he thought. He struggled to make ends meet. His one true friend, alcohol, had served its due purpose in his final decision. He felt uneasy, and felt like he was amidst a lucid dream. He was just one push away. Just one.

But admittedly, he loved being a Santa. Having been able to achieve nothing more in his sorry life, he resolved to devote the entirety to bringing a smile on people's face. Several looked down on him, several smirked on him. Several cried at the lame toys they'd received, throwing it back at him. Some pulled at his beard, some played with his cap. But, he still felt good. Sack full of toys, distributing happiness and restoring hope in the world.

The fire of hope inside of him had long been extinguished though. He just could not take it anymore. He was a failure to the society, to humanity, and most achingly, to his parents.

He looked at himself. The job which had brought him short lived happiness, once a year. If he jumped off now, what would everyone think? Ironically enough, a Creed song began playing in the surrounding;

"Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking, maybe six feet ain't so far down."

The people on the streets continued their daily routine, oblivious to dear Santa's rising trepidation. Why he decided to take the leap on such a happy day and turn it morbid, we shall never know. Perhaps it was his way of letting everyone know that the world out there isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and that the illusion of Santa and other fables seldom outshadow the stark reality.

He took off, eyes closed, bells on his cap jingling. Seconds later came the loud thud of human flesh against concrete, and accompanying shouts. The delight of this special festival was sucked away as he lay in the forming pool of blood, slowly congealing, tainting everyone's Christmas forever.

Maybe six feet ain't so far down. Maybe it's all the way up.

                                                                                                                                                - Dhruv Narayan