Unhappy Santa
The last leg was always the toughest, he thought to himself as he dropped down a chimney. He left these houses for last intentionally. Their spirit was always the lowest of all the others he visited. They never bothered to write, but worse, they never left out cookies and milk. To say he loathed these visits would be an understatement.
“Everyone always expects a ‘Ho Ho Ho’ and jingling bells…” He grumbled as he shoved presents under the tree. His duty momentarily sated, he walked over to the pantry looking for some snacks; even going so far as to pop open the fridge. As he suspected, there was nothing that tempted his appetite. Numbly, he let the fridge slowly close on its own.
There were no words to express how he felt; he could only stand in place staring into the middle distance. He was not sure when he had begun losing his spirit, only that he no longer felt jolly; in that moment he was no longer Santa Claus. The once jovial man looked towards the counter, a rack of knives calling to him. As he reached for one of them, he imagined the next day’s news snippet.
A family of five was brutally slain last night. Witnesses claim hearing jingling bells and a “Ho Ho Ho” at the time of the murders. Police found a note at the scene of the crime, ‘All I wanted was some fucking cookies.’ There are no suspects at this time.
