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FADING
By Melissa L. Webb
He opened the old chest and pulled the red coat out, shaking the dust from it. Sneezing, he wiped his bleary eyes. This was all there was to it anymore. Opening a chest and taking the old thing out.
He remembered when there was dignity in it. A ceremony of sorts, where he took up the mantle for another year. Pure delight would reign as he put it on. Those around him, rejoicing in all that he was.
But those days were gone.
The spirit of what he represented was failing. It laid in its deathbed, waiting for someone to pull the plug. He knew that. He felt it in every fiber of his being. There was nothing good left in the world.
Greed and hatred flowed freely. It was easier now to turn your back on a person than it was to even offer a smile. People had now become the hot commodity. Something to be used and tossed away with last week’s garbage.
Wiping at the tears streaming down his face, he pulled the matching hat out of the chest. He couldn’t bear to see what this world had become. No more joy or laughter. No more wonder or innocence. They had traded it all away for momentary pleasures of the here and now.
Pulling on the coat, he wearily prepared for the bitter ride. This was his last year. He could feel that, too. No one believed anymore. The magic of youth had all but run out. Soon, he’d be just another old man, desperately in need of a diet.
Stepping into his sleigh, he took up the reins with a sigh. He’d make the journey one last time, all the while hoping to spot one last spark of Christmas hope in this very merry-less of times.
© 2011 Melissa L. Webb
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Poor old Santa, he remembers much happier times. Like the way you talked about his duty as an old ceremony, neat picture too.
Poor Santa … This is why I leave him a beer instead of milk and cookies.
Poor Santa. So . . . no Christmas next year?
Awh, I liked this. Blazing with truthfulness and sentiment.
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