Santa Fraud by Emma Phillips
Being short wasn’t as bad as feeling disempowered. You were working double shifts for peanuts while Gabe got to float down from above, good news like balm on his lips and an eyebrow arched in disbelief when he told Skinny Mary she was with child. The Three Wise Men got a tip off, solid gold crowns for their troubles and even the shepherds appeared on set while you were trapped in the Big Guy’s sweat shop, churning out this year’s Must Haves. All you ever wanted was recognition.
The Big Guy had it coming. No more underclass, secondhand citizen, yes sir, no sir, your dues were paid. Kids have an inherent sense of justice; you appealed to their better nature with the launch of Sponsor an Elf. But instead of the Hallmark plushie version of yourself they were promised for their bucks, you sent postcards of your blisters, screenshots of your rent demands, squish mallow turds with a message Santa Enslaves. Sometimes it pays to speak out. The Big Guy had to let you go and for the first time ever you spent Christmas Eve in a bar with regular folk, thanking the Bethlehem Star you were saved.
Emma Phillips lives next to the M5 in Devon, which occasionally lures her away in search of adventure. Her flash collection Not Visiting the SS Great Britain is available from Alien BuddhaPress.
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Hilarious!! Had to read it to my husband this morning & it made him laugh too!
Thank you Anne!