[Contest Entry] The Worst Christmas Ever
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(This is my first go at writing something in a long while, but I like how it turned out. This contest inspired me to once again take up the figurative pen. My word processor does not have a word count function, so I just used a couple of random word-counting sites. I hope it's not over.)
WORD COUNT STARTS HERE-
"Distressing." Said Cain, looking around the house. His vantage point was that of a living room couch- from which he could see various toys, crayons, papers, and food stuffs smeared about the floor. Luckily the Johnstons did not own a carpet. Unluckily, having shit all over your floor was universally considered a sign of bad housekeeping. Cain was what one would call a 'humbug'. He cared not for Christmas, nor did he care for the various problems which it wrought. As such, he was called upon by his neighbors (Who previously hadn't the slightest clue as to his existance as evidenced by the fact that he was the only person within five city blocks who was NOT invited to their July 4th 'BBQ Bash') to watch their bratty, filthy children on this- the eve of Christmas.
Cain shook his head, and allotted himself a singular "Bah! Humbug!"
"Why, mister Sheepley? Why is it that you dislike Christmas so?" Asked the less bratty of the two. This child stood at a total of about four feet. Her dark hair conflicted with her ivory skin, and she looked up at Cain Sheepley with her pleading amber eyes. She held to her a small stuffed toy of sorts. Was that Momoka- the Fakku girl? Cain had to wonder what manner of parent would give this to a child, but it was rather cute.
Cain massaged his temple and replied "Allow me to recount for you Christmases past. Please, sit upon my lap."
The girl did as told, and looked up at mister Sheepley with an amalgamation of curiousity and wonderment. Cain thought he knew what was going through her mind- "How could anyone dislike Christmas"? Well, she was about to learn so much more than she had bargained for.
"First off, we must be absolutely straight with each-other. Candid, one might say. Do you understand?"
The small girl nodded.
"Then Santa Claus, as a rule, does not exist. Not in reality, not in your HEART, and not as an angel in heaven. He is a myth, like the tooth fairy and unicorns and free meals. He is dead to you."
Tears welled up in the girl's eyes, and she spoke "Why, mister Sheepley? Why would you say such horrid things? Santa is..."
"A load of crap." Finished mister Sheepley "Now, to the truly horrific part. You more than likely realize by now, but this means that your parents lied to you. Every mention of magic and happiness and Christmas spirit was a horrid lie, perpetrated against you by the entirety of your family. You believed in this foolish rubbish, and they all had a jolly laugh as they supplied you false truths to your face."
The poor girl was absolutely in tears by now. She seemed to have completely broken down, but that would not stop Cain.
"Now then, who buys you all of those presents? It's certainly not Santa. Not at all. Your parents work themselves to the bone to fulfill your selfish desires- your perverse needs. Every doll, toy, and playset was multiple hours worth of blood, sweat, and tears. As an adult, this is all Christmas is. Soon, my fair lass, it will be your turn. You will toil and slave and hurt over each and every gift, and you will glean no thanks. Why must this be? Because you, too, will harken back to those days of magic, love, and wonderment and will lie to your children just the same. Santa will get all the credit, and why? So that those ungrateful brats can hold on to lies just a little longer. That, dear Sarah, is the truest meaning of Christmas."
By now, she was sobbing uncontrollably into mister Sheepley's nice new button-down shirt. She cried, and cried, and cried. She held tight to him, but still the tears would not cease.
"There, there..." Said Cain, rubbing her back sympathetically. "It's OK. Once you accept that the world has abandoned you and that you will never amount to anything, the hurt dulls. Dreams are the truest cause of this disgusting world's woes."
She stopped crying after a few more minutes, and stared back up at Cain. There was no more wonderment, there were no more dreams, and there was no more curiousity in those eyes. Only the acceptance that can come with being completely broken. Her eyes were blank, as they should be. Filled with neither disappointment nor with sadness- but with a newfound appreciation of how hard attaining true happiness is.
Thomas, the other child, who was younger, shorter, and far more filthy than his sister, peeked into the room from the kitchen. He had been fixing himself some dinner, no doubt leaving traces of God knows what all around.
"What's wrong with you two dorks?" He asked, sneering.
Cain smiled, and replied "Come, lad. Sit on my lap and I shall regale you with tales of Christmases past."
Sarah could do nothing now. Nothing but nod and wait. Soon, Thomas would be broken as well. He would be broken, and would for the first time in his life understand that 'Christmas Magic' was veiled lies, malignancy, and toil. It would disappear from him as it had from her, and it would be replaced with the one thing that could fill that chasm. He would understand truth, and would finally appreciate what Christmas was really all about. Pain at the expense of false happiness.
WORD COUNT STARTS HERE-
"Distressing." Said Cain, looking around the house. His vantage point was that of a living room couch- from which he could see various toys, crayons, papers, and food stuffs smeared about the floor. Luckily the Johnstons did not own a carpet. Unluckily, having shit all over your floor was universally considered a sign of bad housekeeping. Cain was what one would call a 'humbug'. He cared not for Christmas, nor did he care for the various problems which it wrought. As such, he was called upon by his neighbors (Who previously hadn't the slightest clue as to his existance as evidenced by the fact that he was the only person within five city blocks who was NOT invited to their July 4th 'BBQ Bash') to watch their bratty, filthy children on this- the eve of Christmas.
Cain shook his head, and allotted himself a singular "Bah! Humbug!"
"Why, mister Sheepley? Why is it that you dislike Christmas so?" Asked the less bratty of the two. This child stood at a total of about four feet. Her dark hair conflicted with her ivory skin, and she looked up at Cain Sheepley with her pleading amber eyes. She held to her a small stuffed toy of sorts. Was that Momoka- the Fakku girl? Cain had to wonder what manner of parent would give this to a child, but it was rather cute.
Cain massaged his temple and replied "Allow me to recount for you Christmases past. Please, sit upon my lap."
The girl did as told, and looked up at mister Sheepley with an amalgamation of curiousity and wonderment. Cain thought he knew what was going through her mind- "How could anyone dislike Christmas"? Well, she was about to learn so much more than she had bargained for.
"First off, we must be absolutely straight with each-other. Candid, one might say. Do you understand?"
The small girl nodded.
"Then Santa Claus, as a rule, does not exist. Not in reality, not in your HEART, and not as an angel in heaven. He is a myth, like the tooth fairy and unicorns and free meals. He is dead to you."
Tears welled up in the girl's eyes, and she spoke "Why, mister Sheepley? Why would you say such horrid things? Santa is..."
"A load of crap." Finished mister Sheepley "Now, to the truly horrific part. You more than likely realize by now, but this means that your parents lied to you. Every mention of magic and happiness and Christmas spirit was a horrid lie, perpetrated against you by the entirety of your family. You believed in this foolish rubbish, and they all had a jolly laugh as they supplied you false truths to your face."
The poor girl was absolutely in tears by now. She seemed to have completely broken down, but that would not stop Cain.
"Now then, who buys you all of those presents? It's certainly not Santa. Not at all. Your parents work themselves to the bone to fulfill your selfish desires- your perverse needs. Every doll, toy, and playset was multiple hours worth of blood, sweat, and tears. As an adult, this is all Christmas is. Soon, my fair lass, it will be your turn. You will toil and slave and hurt over each and every gift, and you will glean no thanks. Why must this be? Because you, too, will harken back to those days of magic, love, and wonderment and will lie to your children just the same. Santa will get all the credit, and why? So that those ungrateful brats can hold on to lies just a little longer. That, dear Sarah, is the truest meaning of Christmas."
By now, she was sobbing uncontrollably into mister Sheepley's nice new button-down shirt. She cried, and cried, and cried. She held tight to him, but still the tears would not cease.
"There, there..." Said Cain, rubbing her back sympathetically. "It's OK. Once you accept that the world has abandoned you and that you will never amount to anything, the hurt dulls. Dreams are the truest cause of this disgusting world's woes."
She stopped crying after a few more minutes, and stared back up at Cain. There was no more wonderment, there were no more dreams, and there was no more curiousity in those eyes. Only the acceptance that can come with being completely broken. Her eyes were blank, as they should be. Filled with neither disappointment nor with sadness- but with a newfound appreciation of how hard attaining true happiness is.
Thomas, the other child, who was younger, shorter, and far more filthy than his sister, peeked into the room from the kitchen. He had been fixing himself some dinner, no doubt leaving traces of God knows what all around.
"What's wrong with you two dorks?" He asked, sneering.
Cain smiled, and replied "Come, lad. Sit on my lap and I shall regale you with tales of Christmases past."
Sarah could do nothing now. Nothing but nod and wait. Soon, Thomas would be broken as well. He would be broken, and would for the first time in his life understand that 'Christmas Magic' was veiled lies, malignancy, and toil. It would disappear from him as it had from her, and it would be replaced with the one thing that could fill that chasm. He would understand truth, and would finally appreciate what Christmas was really all about. Pain at the expense of false happiness.
