Snow patters softly at the bedroom window as I lay beneath the covers, twisting and turning as I struggle to keep myself within my strained dream clad state. The biting cold seeps int through the covers, bleeding through the poor quality glass of the windows and the flimsy walls of the cheap and poorly maintained apartment.
Pulling the covers closer, wrapping them around me as an insulating second skin, I shiver and mutter in my sleep as whatever chance of restful sleep grows ever more fleeting. The poor state of rest however manages to keep itself in place as the kitchen window slides open, a faint jingling of sleigh bells emanating from beyond the window.
A soft series foot falls pace across the hardwood floors, the large figure moving with cat-like tread despite his bulk and the large sack slung over his shoulder. As the elderly man tip toes over to my living room his long bushy white bread ruffles softly, his red floppy hat somehow making more noise than his whole hulking frame.
As the jolly old man reaches my coffee table he slings the large sack over his shoulder around, his gloved hand dipping inside and sifting around in search of a particular box amongst the mixture of colorfully wrapped gifts. While it was only a week or so to the big day, or for the elderly man his big night traveling the globe, some presents this year needed to be delivered early in order for them to have their full effect.
Cost of living, inflation, and all manner of other issues had been plaguing jolly old Santa for the past year. While his factories and elves worked away to make toys and gifts for all the good boys and girls of the world he couldn't help but wonder whether the influx of all these physical goods would have the right effect on all those already suffering under strained economic conditions around the world.
While the elves suggested trying to make more 'traditional' toys, wooden blocks and hand carved trinkets, Mrs Claus turned her mind to another option. While baking cookies for her disconcerted husband she mused that what mattered was experiences, family, and being happy with one's own life. That night she had explained her idea to her husband, knitting beside the fireplace in the North-pole while the wizened old man nodded along with great interest.
Repurposing the great machines and expertise of the elves a new type of gift could be made, one deeply infused with magic and with world shattering intent. These singular items, upon being opened, would warp and twist the recipient and the world around them. By the next morning reality itself would have changed, the one who opened the gift having been granted a new place in this new world.
Of course, those one who received these types of rarefied gits either fell into the naughty or nice list with each one having drastically different results.
Those of the nice list would often find an item inside their gift box relating to some dream or goal of theirs, a small indication as to what their upcoming change would entail. From scripts for an up and coming actor or manuscripts for aspiring writers, these lucky few would soon find themselves in a world where these aspirations had been made reality.
Of course, even with one simple change the butterfly effect would ripple through the rest of the giftee's life. A person who had always wanted to be a doctor but for the prohibitive costs may soon find themselves with different parents, their whole life having been uprooted from birth to afford them this necessary change.
Despite it all, Santa believed that so long as the good boys and girls got their 'less than material' gift then they would be content and pleased over the holiday period or at the very least happy to have not received some fancy new phone or whatever they craved.
Those on the naughty list were a little more difficult to classify. Santa of course did not want to punish these poor souls, giving them worse lives or harming them for their actions for the past year, to which both Mrs Claus and the elves agreed.
Rather than targeting the truly naughty people on the list, these gifts were given to those who simply hadn't done much of anything at all over the past year being on the Naughty List solely for not having done any real 'Nice' acts to earn their spot on the Nice List.
Rather than being given their own gifts, instead they would become a gift for someone else. Many people of the Nice List's wishes and desires required some other participant, to find the right collaborator for a film project or the right dance partner for a national competition. While Santa's magic was powerful, it simply couldn't create a new person. However, with those boring people at the very bottom of the Naughty List being used as a canvas a whole new life could be made in order to fulfill the Nice List's wishes and dreams.
As the doughy old man places the small gift box on my coffee table a mug is jostled, the ceramic soon tumbling to the floor with a loud crash.
I lurch up from my strained and light sleep, the smashing of the mug against the wooden floor ripping me from a dream already fading from my mind. The footfalls quicken in pace in the living room down the hall, the soft steps soon disappearing out the window before the sound of bells begin to pull away and into the distance.
Despite the freezing temperature I leap from my bed, pulling open the draw of my bedside table as I grab out the heavy metal torch sitting within. Armed to the best of my ability and with a stream of harsh light in hand I begin to tentatively pace towards the bedroom door.
Hunched low I slowly open the door with a painfully long creak, my bleary sleep filled eyes straining to see in the darkened rooms despite the harsh stream of light pouring from the powerful torch. Creeping down the hallway I careful step into the combined living room and kitchen. The window sits up, snowflakes slowly falling in as a harsh and painfully cold breeze billows inside.
Whipping my head around I soon find my torchlight pointed towards the shattered pale green coffee mug, my attention soon turning to the coffee table on which it once sat. My eyebrow cocks in confusion as I aim the torchlight at the object sitting in the center of the old low wooden table, my eyes squinting as I stare at the...
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