So, time to pull this little tale of festive cheer, redemption, and overdue school projects together and find an ending. Of sorts :) Merry Christmas, I hope you have a fantastic day spent the way you like it! I shall be looking forward to being in Kiev on the 28th and seeing real snow :)
The grandmother "If he's the grandfather," said Lionel, watching as the elves pulled tatters of skin from Santa, and hauled his own skin down from the dressmaker's dummy, "then who's the grandmother. Because, you can't have one without the other, right?"
In an opulent bedroom in a mansion quite a distance away, the President sat up in bed. Bleary-eyed he stared at the Christmas tree in the corner, wondering what was different with it. He knuckled his eyes and let out a jaw-splitting yawn. The security detail would have checked everything over there, so it could only be something they'd permitted. Perhaps his wife had thawed a little, despite the snow outside, and given him a small present, an olive branch of sorts, for Christmas? His eyes finally focussed on the novelty: a box the size of a briefcase wrapped in cerulean paper. It exploded. There was a noise like a train rushing into a tight tunnel, getting louder and louder until it overwhelmed everything and it felt like there were heat against his face like sunburn only getting worse and worse. The bright light receded, but there was crystalline glitter everywhere, all coming towards him, and wreaths of barbed tinsel twisted around like the beginning of a Disney spectacular. He opened his mouth to scream, but stopped as everything suddenly halted, and like an optical illusion he realised he wasn't looking at an explosion at all, but at a woman, all cold edges and glassy curves, somehow a queen of snow and ice holding a sceptre that might just be a candy cane. "Ngwhffle?" he said, and wished immediately that he hadn't fired his speech-writer the previous evening. "I am Yulia," said the woman. She turned to look at him, and he wished she hadn't. Her eyes were dark holes into her head, reminding me of the way his wife had looked at him after only two months of marriage. "You may think of me as a spirit of Christmas."
"Yulia," said Santa. Lionel looked at him surprised that he'd spoken, and then retched. Seeing the elves batter Santa's skin into place like sadistic leather-workers was not for the weak-stomached. "Ho. Ho. They call her Mrs. Claus now, but her name is Yulia. She makes sausages."
"I want to be famous forever!" said the President immediately. "And more money. And better children!" "You will never be forgotten," said Yulia. Her hand swept around, encompassingly, but the President had no idea what she meant. "You shall never want for money again. And... hmmm. It seems that your children could have done with a better father. Perhaps it would be better to prune the entire branch." Then she was gone, and a wall of glassy, tinselled shrapnel tore into the President where he still sat.
"Burgers too," said Santa. "Bacon. She does really good bacon. And her crackling...." He sighed happily, and the elves tried to put his face on backwards. As they skittered and scurried over his head and shoulders Lionel couldn't escape the likeness to spiders. "She sounds nice," he said hesitantly. "Wife of a slaughtermaster," said Suzie. "She needs to be a good butcher."
The security service stared at the room, amazed. The bomb had failed to touch the tree, the carpet, or the furnishing, but all that was left of the President was over 239lbs of minced meat, sprayed across the walls like modern art.
2 comments:
So, time to pull this little tale of festive cheer, redemption, and overdue school projects together and find an ending. Of sorts :) Merry Christmas, I hope you have a fantastic day spent the way you like it! I shall be looking forward to being in Kiev on the 28th and seeing real snow :)
The grandmother
"If he's the grandfather," said Lionel, watching as the elves pulled tatters of skin from Santa, and hauled his own skin down from the dressmaker's dummy, "then who's the grandmother. Because, you can't have one without the other, right?"
In an opulent bedroom in a mansion quite a distance away, the President sat up in bed. Bleary-eyed he stared at the Christmas tree in the corner, wondering what was different with it. He knuckled his eyes and let out a jaw-splitting yawn. The security detail would have checked everything over there, so it could only be something they'd permitted. Perhaps his wife had thawed a little, despite the snow outside, and given him a small present, an olive branch of sorts, for Christmas? His eyes finally focussed on the novelty: a box the size of a briefcase wrapped in cerulean paper. It exploded.
There was a noise like a train rushing into a tight tunnel, getting louder and louder until it overwhelmed everything and it felt like there were heat against his face like sunburn only getting worse and worse. The bright light receded, but there was crystalline glitter everywhere, all coming towards him, and wreaths of barbed tinsel twisted around like the beginning of a Disney spectacular. He opened his mouth to scream, but stopped as everything suddenly halted, and like an optical illusion he realised he wasn't looking at an explosion at all, but at a woman, all cold edges and glassy curves, somehow a queen of snow and ice holding a sceptre that might just be a candy cane.
"Ngwhffle?" he said, and wished immediately that he hadn't fired his speech-writer the previous evening.
"I am Yulia," said the woman. She turned to look at him, and he wished she hadn't. Her eyes were dark holes into her head, reminding me of the way his wife had looked at him after only two months of marriage. "You may think of me as a spirit of Christmas."
"Yulia," said Santa. Lionel looked at him surprised that he'd spoken, and then retched. Seeing the elves batter Santa's skin into place like sadistic leather-workers was not for the weak-stomached. "Ho. Ho. They call her Mrs. Claus now, but her name is Yulia. She makes sausages."
"I want to be famous forever!" said the President immediately. "And more money. And better children!"
"You will never be forgotten," said Yulia. Her hand swept around, encompassingly, but the President had no idea what she meant. "You shall never want for money again. And... hmmm. It seems that your children could have done with a better father. Perhaps it would be better to prune the entire branch."
Then she was gone, and a wall of glassy, tinselled shrapnel tore into the President where he still sat.
"Burgers too," said Santa. "Bacon. She does really good bacon. And her crackling...." He sighed happily, and the elves tried to put his face on backwards. As they skittered and scurried over his head and shoulders Lionel couldn't escape the likeness to spiders.
"She sounds nice," he said hesitantly.
"Wife of a slaughtermaster," said Suzie. "She needs to be a good butcher."
The security service stared at the room, amazed. The bomb had failed to touch the tree, the carpet, or the furnishing, but all that was left of the President was over 239lbs of minced meat, sprayed across the walls like modern art.
Greg - and a slightly belated merry Christmas to you as well :)
That is quite the... festive ending. I can't say the ending displeases me. The reference to 239 pounds was a delightful touch :D
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