giovedì 5 luglio 2018

A Christmas Tale


Welcome to The Spot Writers. The June prompt is to update a legend or legendary character/beast: bring it into the modern world, or add a twist that isn't consistent with the original legend.
This week’s story comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara dreams, reads, edits texts, translates, and occasionally writes in two languages. She also has lot of fun.

A Christmas Tale
by Chiara De Giorgi

“Guys, I don’t want to repeat myself, but rules are simple: one story for Christmas, one for Midsummer, one for Halloween. You’re always late, and I find myself publishing scary stuff for Christmas and dealing with the fairy folk in November. Santa and the reindeers are always complaining that, by the time we publish something Christmas-related, it’s almost time for eggs and bunnies. Who, by the way, are pestering me because they want to be featured as well. I mean, come on! Why must you always be so lazy? Use your brain for something useful, for once, and give me something worth publishing at the right time. Shall I remind you, that last year our Winter issue featured a story about Zombie Fairies? A pathetic attempt to merge Midsummer and Halloween, no doubt, and yet you delivered it so late it was already Christmas by the time we managed to print it! I can’t do this anymore. You’re the greatest disappointment and I would close the magazine down at once, were it not for those fluffy reindeers expectantly looking at me. To be honest, I’m also a tiny bit freaked out by all those magical creatures. I mean, they’re sweet and all, but what would happen if they got angry? I don’t even want to think about it. So, please, I beg you: concentrate and write.”
The editor-in-chief left, his unfinished cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, dropping ash on his desk. No one spoke. The clock ticked and tocked, and the faucet in the restroom dripped. Drip. Drip. Drip. Someone had left the door open. Again.
“Well…”
“Yeah.”
 “After all, you know: he’s right.”
“I must say, I liked the Zombie Fairies piece, though.”
“At least we always try to be original.”
“You mean ghoulish.”
“I mean our stuff is never predictable.”
“Guys, he’s not complaining about the quality of our work, he just needs us to be on time.”
“Hey, it’s not easy writing stuff about Christmas when you’ve just booked a week at the Bahamas.”
“Why, doesn’t Christmas happen at the Bahamas as well?”
“Yeah, you just need to wrap up some loving feelings in sugary goodness coated with pink little hearts, et voilà! A Christmas story ready to be printed out.”
“That’s not original, though.”
“Nor ghoulish.”
“We don’t really need to be ghoulish.”
Knock-knock.
“Who’s there?”
“Er, hi. May I come in?”
“Sure, Mr… Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“My name is Santa, you might have heard of me.”
“…”
“I overheard you speaking, and it is my understanding that you’re facing some sort of difficulties because of me and my sweet reindeers.”
“We... er… I mean…”
“I wonder, therefore, if you wish me to be of assistance.”
“Hey, why not? We need inspiration: we have to write a story about you!”
“Ho Ho Ho! What a coincidence! I can tell you some very personal stories about me. After all, I am Santa. I know each one of you.”
“You do?”
“Of course! You, for example, devilish child!”
“Me? What? Why?”
“In a time when finally, finally!, children started being rational and stopped believing in me, so I could seriously consider retirement, you campaigned for me! You convinced all your little friends that the poor old man does exist and loves all the children and the least we can do is believe he’s real! You devilish, devilish child! Me? Loving children? Ha! All I want is to permanently move to a desert island in the middle of the ocean, with a giant drink in my hand and a beautiful, curvy blond by my side, and never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever see a child again!”
“I’m sorry, I guess? I had no idea…”
“Of course you hadn’t! And, by the way, where has all that fierce love you had for me gone now? You aren’t even able to crank out one little story for me in one year!”
“Well, we’re trying to…”
“You’re trying, what?  I remember of you as well, you know.”
“Oh. Ahem. Really?”
“Sure! You’re so smart, in fifth grade you stole all of your classmates’ letters to Santa and signed them yourself, thinking you’d get twenty-five presents!”
“I’ve always been a resourceful kid.”
“A liar, you mean.”
“Come on, children’s lies are not really lies…”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“I… No, I actually…”
“What? No words? You? Nice writers you are, the lot of you! But I had enough of this. I am here to put an end to all your Christmas-related issues.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Think of it like the ultimate Christmas present, from Santa himself.”
“Sounds great!”
“Yes, I am great, as a matter of fact. May I have a coffee, please?”
“Sure! Sugar?”
“Two.”
“Cream?”
“A drop.”
“There you go!”
“Mmmmh, smells divine. I’ll just set it aside for the moment.”
“And why’s that?”
“First, I have to eat.”
“Eat? Wait, we should have some crisps somewhere…”
“Don’t bother, I don’t need crisps.”
“…”
“Guys, have you noticed the reindeers? Why are they circling us?”
“I’ve no idea. It looks like they’re glaring at us, doesn’t it?”
“Now that you mention it, it does, yes.”
“Do I sound very stupid if I say that it looks like they’re going to eat us?”
“Actually, yes, you do sound stupid. But I admit I agree.”
“Mr Santa… Are you going to let your reindeers eat us?”
“Not completely, no. I want some bites as well.”
“I’m not sure this is going to help us with the difficulties we’re experiencing regarding a Christmas story, to be honest.”
“But of course it will help you! Didn’t you want a ghoulish tale?”
“…”
“Rudolph, go on: first bite’s for you.”

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