The Kid that Shot Christmas

Posted: December 13, 2011 in Fiction

Tony looked out upon the dull, cold night… searching the crisp, clear sky. The sparse, naked limbs of the sleeping trees fascinated him. No sign of him yet, thought Tim. Not that it mattered. He checked to make sure his dad’s hunting rifle was still loaded. Tim hadn’t been a good boy that year. In fact, he had been a diabolical little bastard. Busting windows. Torturing animals. He even accused his gym teacher of touching him. It wasn’t true, but it ruined his life just the same. Tim thought it was a kick.

He shared his room, which was on the second floor, with his younger brother, John. Complete opposites, those two. John was a good boy who loved his mother, and always did what he was told. Someday the world would make him very sad, but now he merely slept.

Tony finally spotted him… the fat man and his reindeer. He looked into his sights. If he wasn’t going to get any gifts, no one was.

Bang Donner! Bang Prancer! Bang Blitzon! And Bang 4 times more.

Tony’s dad rushed into his room as John awoke frightened. His mom was working at the hospital that night. Tony reloaded. A bullet clipped his dad on the shoulder. He set his sights on the sleigh to savor its descent. “Only a Christmas miracle can save your ass now, sucker!” giggled Tony as he watched the wounded, writhing reindeer and sleigh plummet.

“Would you shut the fuck up?”

“You shot dad. I can’t believe you shot dad,” sobbed John.

“He’s just wounded.”

This did little to console John, and he continued to cry hysterically.

Tony ignored him… too engrossed by the events transpiring above. Down, down, down went the sleigh, and that’s when the Christmas miracle happened.

“What the fuck?”

Seven black buzzards materialized above each reindeer, holding them up by the horns, thereby saving ol’ Nick from impending disaster and catastrophe. Tony was out of shells. He felt cheated. Then he remembered something that he once learned from television… something about buzzards liking to eat dead things.

“Would you stop that fuckin’ crying already!” he snarled at his younger brother who shook uncontrollably over his shivering, bleeding papa. Tony looked at his old man. Good, he thought, he’s unconscious. Tony locked John in the closet, and took pop by the pant-legs and pulled him down stairs. Thud went the head and shoulders on each descending step. Thud, thud, thud. Drag, drag, drag inched Tony towards the front door. He got his winter coat and boots from the living room closet, went to the kitchen to get a knife, and opened the front door.

The night sky was black, and how ever cold the night was, the blood running through Tony’s veins was colder as he sliced his dad’s throat. The white snow now turned red. The buzzards began to circle above. All there was to do is wait.

Eventually they came down and brought with them the wounded reindeer and sleigh. Tony waited with his empty rifle.

“All right, fat man—” demanded the boy, “hand over the presents.”

“That’s not necessary,” replied Saint Nick, and handed him a present.

Tony wasn’t expecting anything like this. It almost made him ashamed of himself. He was almost sorry that he shot those reindeer. He was almost sorry that he shot and then killed his father. He was almost sorry that he hijacked Santa’s sleigh and planned to kill him. For a brief moment he was ashamed of himself… but not quite.

He set down the empty rifle like last year’s toy, and began to tear and claw at the wrapping paper. Inside the box was a pistol. He looked up to Nick, confused. It didn’t make any sense to him. Why would he give him a gift to murder him with?

The old man in red and white anticipated his question and said, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yah… sorta…” muttered Tony.

“Then what’s the problem?”

The kid didn’t know what to think. Here he shot all the guy’s deer, and pointed a rifle at him… and he gives him a loaded gun. He studied the gun and then raised it at shoulder level.

“Are you sure you want to do that, little boy?”

Tony made no reply and pulled the trigger.

The gun backfired and sent the bullet in Tony’s face.

The reindeer awoke and flew off as a couple of vultures began to peck at the dead, young flesh.

* Originally posted at Rusty Typer in December of 2010


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