CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
"Ho Ho Ho," Santa practiced in front of the mirror. "Ho ho fucking ho."
What was the point? There were so few left who believe in him. Even young children seemed to know now, even the very young. The world was so cynical. It was no place for Santa.
The parents didn't help by buying presents for the children themselves. Perhaps that was the real problem. If they stopped doing that, started believing in Santa to provide then Santa WOULD provide. Like he had done on the very first Christmas, when he was worshipped as a God. He wanted that again. He wanted all his powers back, the ability to freeze time, to travel faster than the speed of light...to know what was in a man's heart. He still had that, a little. But it was fading. Santa was fading.
He sighed. Why was he going out? He would be in the air, on his sleigh, listening for the call. He'd feel it, vaguely. Perhaps he'd get to watch a small child sleep. But it would have gifts. And he could not actually let the children see him. That was against the rules. Even from the very start, when he had been a God, he did not let the children see him on Christmas day. He let them see him every other day of the year, of course, let them worship him, bring HIM gifsts...but not at Christmas.
He got on his slay. He reindeers were unaging, but they looked older every year. Weary. Dead inside. He pitted the poor beasts, dooomed to never die. Almost as much as he pitied himself.
He took off. He felt nothing as he flew over city after city, country after country. Until...there was something. Faint. Belief. Someone needed him. He landed his sleigh.
It was a stinky homeless man. Santa pulled his cloak of invisibility up. He reached out with his mind. He looked into the homeless man's soul. What did he want?
He wanted a blanket. Santa opened his magical sack and produced the finest, warmest blanket in all the world. The homeless man was either sleeping or in a drunken stupor. Santa wrapped him up tight. He felt it, for the briefest of moments, just an echo of that old warm feeling he used to experience a billion times over on this day. He felt it.
How could a grown adult believe in Santa so utterly, he wondered? He'd never know. He went back to his sleigh and took off.
He did not give anymore gifts that night. But it was still better than last year.
What was the point? There were so few left who believe in him. Even young children seemed to know now, even the very young. The world was so cynical. It was no place for Santa.
The parents didn't help by buying presents for the children themselves. Perhaps that was the real problem. If they stopped doing that, started believing in Santa to provide then Santa WOULD provide. Like he had done on the very first Christmas, when he was worshipped as a God. He wanted that again. He wanted all his powers back, the ability to freeze time, to travel faster than the speed of light...to know what was in a man's heart. He still had that, a little. But it was fading. Santa was fading.
He sighed. Why was he going out? He would be in the air, on his sleigh, listening for the call. He'd feel it, vaguely. Perhaps he'd get to watch a small child sleep. But it would have gifts. And he could not actually let the children see him. That was against the rules. Even from the very start, when he had been a God, he did not let the children see him on Christmas day. He let them see him every other day of the year, of course, let them worship him, bring HIM gifsts...but not at Christmas.
He got on his slay. He reindeers were unaging, but they looked older every year. Weary. Dead inside. He pitted the poor beasts, dooomed to never die. Almost as much as he pitied himself.
He took off. He felt nothing as he flew over city after city, country after country. Until...there was something. Faint. Belief. Someone needed him. He landed his sleigh.
It was a stinky homeless man. Santa pulled his cloak of invisibility up. He reached out with his mind. He looked into the homeless man's soul. What did he want?
He wanted a blanket. Santa opened his magical sack and produced the finest, warmest blanket in all the world. The homeless man was either sleeping or in a drunken stupor. Santa wrapped him up tight. He felt it, for the briefest of moments, just an echo of that old warm feeling he used to experience a billion times over on this day. He felt it.
How could a grown adult believe in Santa so utterly, he wondered? He'd never know. He went back to his sleigh and took off.
He did not give anymore gifts that night. But it was still better than last year.