The Gift Givers Reality

November 3, 2011
By Nezar BRONZE, Merced, California
Nezar BRONZE, Merced, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I finally came back to consciousness. I tried to stretch, but my arms went strait to my throbbing head. Then I heard a noise from the game room, a steady thumping of feet. I get up only to hit my head on the top of the fireplace and increase my pain. Then my memory returned. I was trying to get my cell phone my little sister took and hid behind the unlit fireplace as a prank. When I reached in to get it something hit my head and must have knocked me out.

Suddenly a crash came from the game room and I got up, this time avoiding the fireplace. I grabbed a nearby fireplace poker and cautiously headed to the noise. I jumped in the room and held the poker like a spear at what seemed to be a red blob. Once my vision cleared, I saw it was the jolly old man himself, Santa. He was unconscious on the carpet, a platter of half eaten cookies on his stomach and a tipped over carton of milk spilling over his face. I called 911.

As soon as he was at the hospital and awake again, I went into his room to check on him. He was breathing hard and his face red, not the jolly red. He appeared filled with uneasiness.

“He seemed to have suffered from heart failure. His extreme fat and congested arteries made it hard for his heart to pump blood to the rest of his body. He’s lucky you called so fast or he might not be here,” explained the doctor. Once he left I entered the room. Room 12. It was big with white curtains and pictures of the Red Cross on the wallpaper. Santa’s mattress was huge and probably could have let a family sleep on it comfortably. Santa was staring at the wall his eyes blood shot red with fatigue and fear.

“Santa,” I asked innocently, “If you know when I’m sleeping and awake wouldn’t that make you spy on me every day?” He looked at me his eyes clearing of the red and in a deep voice he replied,

“You see my boy-“

“Why would you come to my house if I was awake?” I continued, ignoring him.

“Well, you were uncon-“

“And if you knew if every kid was either naughty or nice then how could you not see the obvious possibility of heart failure?”

“Hey kid watch-“

“And you do know there is such thing as high blood sugar thus causing you to get diabetes and ruining the rest of your life… Right?”

“All right, enough! Now go to the toy bag on the other side of the bed and pull out some cash. There should be some at the bottom,” said Santa. I did as I was told and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“Is this mine?” I asked.

“Go get me a cell phone so I can call my sleigh to get me out of here,” he ordered as if it were another simple task.

“But you haven’t recovered yet!” I cried.

“Hurry up or you’re on the naughty list.” He said flicking his wrist at the door.

“You know that’ll be just another cause of death! You can’t just walk out like that! You need to learn how to be in control your life! You’ll die if you don’t! Try a carrot Santa.” As I said this I grabbed a carrot from a bowl of food on the counter and placed it his chubby hand. What was strange was he began to sniff it. Not putting it under your nose sniff, he began to snort it as though he wanted to eat it through his nose. He studied it carefully.

“W-What is this? I’ve never seen anything like it,” he asked fearfully.

“Just try it.” I urged him. Now I don’t mean to be mean or anything, but Santa had no manners. He went and shoved it right down his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. Then he chocked and coughed it all out on himself. I guess he didn’t know he could choke when he downed everything with milk.

“That tasted horrible and choked me. What are you trying to do? Kill me? Go get me some milk to wash it down,” he ordered.

“How about,” I suggested getting up with a cup, “you wash it down with water.”

“Water?” he asked his widened blue eyes following me, “Is that some other type of poison?”

“No, not at all,” I said filling up the glass, “It’s actually healthy for you.” I gave him the cup and he sniffed the water as well as the cup. Once he realized there was no smell he downed it. Once again he coughed out on himself. He glared at me saying,

“Is this some kind of joke? This was worse than the carrot! There’s no taste!” I stared at him trying not to laugh. How could a man this fat have never had water?

“Don’t you see what I’m trying to get across? With a variety of food there might be some better nourishment than cookies and milk. Healthier and tastier.” I told him.

“Yeah right! Two foods are enough to prove my diet is the best.”

“But your diet will kill you!” As if to prove my point he clutched his stomach and started moaning. Then it turned to wailing. Then continued to crescendo from there. I stared at him in horror. What was happening? I ran outside searching for a doctor running so fast I started sliding at the corners.

“Doctor! There’s something wrong with,” I was about to say Santa and thought against it, “the man in room 12. He’s in extreme pain.” I guess I said it in the right room because five doctors ran in and moved him to an operation room. They locked the door behind them so I tried to find a window, but had no luck. I just sat next to the door and listened to his pain, feeling it like it was my own. The noise died down. Was he gone? Were the new foods just too much for his isolated stomach?

Next thing I knew a nurse with blonde hair and green eyes woke me up. She smiled. I had on a blue blanket next to the now open door. I peaked inside only to see an empty room. I was about to cry.

“Is he…”

“Your friend is fine. He’s back in his room. It was an abnormally large kidney stone that had to be surgically removed. You really need to make sure he’s eating right, okay?” she said. She helped me up and led me back to Santa’s room through the maze of rooms in the hospital. Just then a doctor came out.

“Santa,” he said clearly using sarcasm “will be fine. He says he’s okay, but he needs a better diet to avoid another experience.” So I walked in to see the old guy. It seemed they didn’t have Santa sized hospital clothes and taped two together on him. He was staring out the window, his back facing me. My hand still on the doorknob I said,

“How you feeling…” No answer. I just stared at the carpet at my feet.

“I’ll do it,” he said still not facing me.

“Do what?” I asked.

“I’ll try a new diet.”

“Really? Great! You’ll never feel that pain again with the right diet.” Then he faced me, just ready to get it over with. So I got started. Once he got past his gag reflex he ate a bit more and soon enjoyed real food. So he heaved himself out of bed.

“I’ll try more food at home kid, for now I guess children will get double the toys for next year.” he sighed seeming to imagine the work that would take.

“Santa if you know my life deeds why not call me by my name?” I asked. He grunted and crawled out the window. I thought he was crazy but then I saw the flying sleigh outside I heaved a sigh of relief. He had a new life, but that’s not the end of my story.

A while later on the way to the movies some drunk jerk comes and hits our car, injuring my mom. Once in the hospital my mom was in the same surgery room as Santa was. She had a broken arm and needed stitches in her right shoulder.

Once the shock left me I had an urge to go to room 12 again. On my way there something caught my eye through the window next to me. It was a motionless, fat body in a red and white suit with the head obscured by a curtain. Saint Nick. At first I hoped he was just asleep but then a hand came on my shoulder. The blonde nurse from his operation. She looked down and shook her head.

Lung cancer… It turned out that Santa’s going in and out of chimneys caused all of the ash and soot to build up inside of him like a smoker. He died of something thing I just couldn’t help him with. The elves? Without Santa they were led to a life of depression and were never heard from again. The reindeer? They all starved to death. Do I feel any guilt? How can I? I tried my hardest but he was just too stubborn of a jolly old man. He was fat and had it coming anyway. So if someone asks if Santa is real tell them he was real. In my conclusion I say that no one lives forever.

The author's comments:
It was around Christmas time and I just wanted to point out all of the flaws I always noticed in Santa. As dark as this story may seem it was meant as a pure parody to him don't take anything as insulting please...

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!