Saturday, December 24, 2011

eleventh night

the coldest night. a night to spend on the run, in a strange motel. a night without hope.
once upon a time, there was a jolly old fat man who gave presents to good little boys and girls on christmas. 
but not every boy and girl was good. some were bad and some were very, very bad. so far them, what? coal? no. not coal. the krampus. 
father christmas would arrive at the dead of night, the krampus in tow, and visit a house. if the children were good and nice, he would leave presents (the krampus devouring the milk and cookies, it was so hungry). if the children were not nice, if they were mean little children, well then, santa would wake them up and the krampus would stuff them in its bag and bring them back to its lair and eat them all up. 
christmas is not a nice holiday.

i miss him. even though he's dead, even though he's a monster, i still miss him. especially on a night like this.

1 comment:

  1. Miss the man, but never miss the monster. If you do, he'll lead your right down into the misery and death that follows him.

    I am praying for you.

    What little praying I do these days, that is..