Introduction: This is about a Christmas stocking that has been around for 100 years. It’s been weathered and frayed overtime and has been seemingly unhappy.

Monologue: T’was another night before Christmas. 100 years of celebrating Christmas and I fully regret ever becoming a stocking. How long will Maddy live? She needs to die soon; I need to die soon. I’ve lost my color and the panda on the front has frayed. It’s no longer as jolly as it used to be and the pom-pom has darkened from the ash from the chimney. I’ve lost my jingle and I can no longer relish in the Christmas tradition of decorating the tree with ornaments and lights. Don’t even get me started on Christmas carols. I HATE THEM. They are so annoying with their, “Jingle all the ways,” and “Wishing you a Merry Christmas!” The most disappointing part is that I am only taken out once a year from a dusty attic piled next to books and old antiques. Am I really considered an antique? I thought antiques are supposed to be hundreds of years old and rusty. I’m not rusty, well maybe stretched is the better word. Anyway going back to Christmas, I’m just a large sock that’s stuffed with Santa’s presents. It seems as though the amount of presents and the weight of them grow each year. It’s not only presents, I have stale cookie crumbs from the past century as well as spilled milk that has dried. My insides hurt;  I’m going to combust. Although I’m soft from being knitted by Maddy’s grandmother, over the years I’ve been prodded and poked at. I can’t live like this anymore. My family has all died and I have nothing left to live for, except maybe Maddy, but she’s old.

On Christmas, I was stuffed with large amounts of presents from Santa, poked at even more. Hopefully this will be the last year of being used as the storage for presents.

The following day, Maddy passed away and I suddenly felt a rush of guilt come over me. For the past century time has gone by so slow and being a stocking just didn’t feel right, but now I really I don’t have a purpose. As relatives came into the living room where I was hanging over the fireplace, they read the will of my late owner. It read, “Throughout my life I’ve had many changes, but one object remained constant in my life, my Christmas stocking. It was so special. I always knew where I placed it each year and taking it out brought tears to my eyes. The stocking made me happy. It reminded me of my grandmother who created it. It reminded me of my loved ones whom I used to celebrate my childhood Christmases with. I loved that stocking so much.” After hearing the will being read out loud, I felt my insides coil. I never thought about being special to someone. I always thought of myself as insignificant, but now I know I made Maddy happy for 100 years and that’s all that matters.