Santa in the Time of Warming

by David

Santa checked his list a second time. Cargo on board, ship sealed, launch tube filled with water, pressure equalized. He was off.

As it cleared the sea surface, Santa’s sleigh sprouted wings. Powerful engines coughed to life and plasma kissed the frigid Arctic water.

“Look ma! It’s a flying fish!” “It’s a plane!” “It’s Santa Claus! ” “Hush, children. Chew your blubber.”

Acceleration pegged, he’s fast. Damn fast. Actually, they call him the streak. You gotta admire his physique.

Santa fired up the Chronotron when he hit cruising altitude. Psychedelic colors out the wazoo. His sleigh fugued. S l e i g h s. T o y s t o o.

2048 Santas disbursed toys with manic speed. But for every stocking filled, 1.17 babies gave out their first cries.

10,000 elves worked for Polar Enterprises. World population growth had forced Santa into an “arms” race he could not win. Corners were cut.

“DaAaaAaD! Santa left me a game console carved from a bar of soap!” “Wadja expect for free?”

Presents rattled down the chimney. “Ho ho ho” blue-shifted into the supersonic shattered windows and the fish tank. “Sorry,” drifted down.

Genevieve tore open the white package, ensanguined in the red-litten den.”You shouldn’t have!” Whips and cuffs: just what she’d asked for.

Unidentified blip, fighters scrambled, just after pilots smoked surprise holiday presents.

The jet fighters, their hash-powered pilots drifting in and out of consciousness, lost the rocket in a mysterious polar fog.

Plunging into the Arctic Ocean as dawn broke, Santa had one last gift in the back. Mrs. Claus did look good in Victoria’s Secret. Ho ho ho!

end

Not a Happy Ending

by Jen Larsen

I didn’t want to be an elf, but when you’re broke and hungry and it’s Christmas Eve, that’s how you end up—a fill-in, last-minute elf, cold in tights and a jumper, swimming through the squirming mass of screams and germs that is a pile of kids waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.

Me, in tights. Clearly desperation working somewhere. Maybe that’s why the old guy started to screw with me in the breakroom. He wasn’t wearing a wig, or a beard. The belly was his, the cheeks were his; the twinkle was probably bourbon in his coffee. He winked at me when I walked in. He said, “Carol!” and he held out his arm like I was going to sit on his lap or something.

“Yes,” I said. “Hello, Santa.” He knew my name, but that was something the manager of the mall must’ve told him.

“Do you still have that Holly Hobby doll I brought you when you were six?” But he just knew that because every six-year-old loved Holly Hobby.

I was hungover, and I did not need this shit. “No,” I said. “Are you going to tell me what the meaning of Christmas is now?”

He put his finger on the side of his nose and twinkled at me.

“I’m Jewish,” I said.

“Don’t lie to Santa,” he said.

The door banged open and Harry the manager came in and shooed us back out into the sea of snot. I tried not to meet his eyes again all night, but I felt him twinkling at me across the heads of screaming children. The lights spasmed and the tinsel burned and if he was trying to fill me with the Christmas spirit, he should have given me a sandwich.

Once the kids were shoveled out the door and the lights went out, I tried to dodge out of there before he could catch me, but he was waiting by the door, looking tired, still twinkling.

He said, “Merry Christmas, Carol,” and his voice was kind, and he held the door for me. I couldn’t answer him. I ducked my head and I raced home.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but my heart was pounding. He hadn’t gotten to me, but my heart went thump, when I swung the door of my apartment wide. I don’ t know what I was expecting—not a happy ending.