I’ve been a terrible blogger of late for no particular good reason (just a lot of pathetic ones.) I feel especially bad for disappearing off the face of the Internets for the majority of my favorite season, which should’ve been filled with lots of crafty things, but wasn’t. While I can’t redeem much of that, the least I can do is fulfill a tradition I’ve mostly kept to over the years of reposting my favorite drabble. Merry Christmas, Happy Yule, everyone — and remember to keep a sense of humor.
Nicholas was…
older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
Neil Gaiman, Smoke and Mirrors
Oh well.
