it's that time of the year again, and I figured I'd write a small gift for all who would want it. Here's something for you all. DOn't worry if you are about the Christmas or the Kwaanza or the Chanukah goodness. You could very well be all about the Agnostica day. But, it is for you from me and anyone else.
To you all, I wish good tidings and cheer.
She stood ready to face the onslaught of merry cheer. It was sad the result that greeted her in the stead of all that expected holiday spirit. It hurt I suppose to be disappointed in such a strong way. Her sharp angled features seemed so soft and painful to watch as if she were a babe whose lollipop had been stolen from her hand by a megalomaniacal mixture of a pre-Annie Daddy Warbucks and Montgomery Burns.
Almost wanting to scream, she just took the alternative and stared malevolence up into the clear sky with its December sun high up almost lost between the skyscrapers that seemed to be lost in some Cold War-esque space race trying to reach the moon despite the presence of this drab winter sun in their face. This definitely wasn't the Christmas she had expected.
She finally spotted the unpredictably thin kid in the Saint Nick costume coaxing the cold unrelenting passerby-crowd to pay him any attention. He seemed to be failing and her hopes were dropping as well it seemed.
It just wasn't fair, why should a fallen care if the other side was losing. She couldn’t figure it out. Every year she would venture out of the nether regions to figure out if her crisis of faith was warranted, and every year she would find that it wasn't. With a pout on her lips, she pointed a snaked finger at a random corporate zombie and watched as the slow invisible tendrils of dissonance and loss wound out of her hand and changed the fabric of his existence. Figuring that the boss below would like another free-thinking selfish corporate executive corrupting the world, she staked out more zombies to twist through her machinations.
Maybe there was a spring to her step, but maybe not, whatever the briskness was it was most definitely forced. Almost winsomely she looked back at the scraggly sophomoric Santa and whispered blasphemy into the wind.
Oh, won’t someone help a fallen angel find good times and Christmas cheer again?