The letter was written in maddeningly neat script.
Dear Santa, I am fully aware that you don’t really exist except as a mythological construct on the order of the Easter Bunny, but given that I’ve been assigned to do so as schoolwork, I am proceeding with this pointless exercise. My Christmas wish is to understand the nature of the universe: perhaps more specifically, how gravity relates to quantum mechanics. Follow-up: I would also like a device that translates this knowledge into a usable practicality, if you catch my meaning.
Kind regards,
T. Bennington Sturgis, III.
He sighed as he read. “What is the world coming to these days, Bernie?”
The List-Keeper shrugged. “They say it’s the television, sir. Or disco. I don’t keep up much.”
“Mm,” he said. “Well, still…”
He folded the letter and placed it neatly in the proper tray, then made the appropriate tick on the list. Strictly speaking, the young lad should’ve received coal. But then again, he hadn’t actually ticked that particular box on anyone in centuries. It was much easier to keep one’s operation if you didn’t have to account for mysterious lumps of rock popping up all over the place.
“Well,” he said, “Next letter, then.”
“All right,” the List-Keeper said. “This one’s from Amelia Squires, age 6, Massachusetts.”
“Ah, yes,” Santa said, smiling again. “She left those wonderful cinnamon cookies last year.”
“Indeed so, sir.”
So the tradition rolled on, as it always did, as the snow fell softly down outside.
This story inspired by
‘s Friday flash fiction prompt:
These days, with the price of gas, a lump of coal is a pretty generous gift 😂