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TASK NR 6: DO THEY KNOW IT IS XMAS?

The task for the month of December has a Christmas theme (surprise!). You need to write a Christmas story, but with a special twist or catch. You need to imagine a different world, planet, time period, alternative Universe, post-apocalyptic future... And a celebration with some of the elements you would expect, but also other things that are different.

The style is free: letter to "alternate Santa", letter to home, resolutions, memories, etc.

Length: maximum 500 words

Objective: nothing specific, maybe future or conditional verb tenses.

It was that time of the year again.

Lights flashed on the streets, fir trees dotted every corner, and the sound of hymns could be heard from the cathedral and the loudspeakers installed on corners and lampposts. The town had once again gathered under the light falling snow and the huge Tree of Offerings to offer their songs and prayers presided by the figure clad in a bright red coat, tipped in pristine ermine fur.

The tree was a sight to behold. Streamers of solid gold snaked between the branches, and small silver shavings, like snowflakes, dotted the leaves. From every branch, the eyeless sockets of the skulls made a sharp contrast with the vivid colors of the crowns they wore, topped with tiaras encrusted with precious stones of all colours: garnets, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, amber, onyx and many others. A feast of opulence, a dazzling display for the eyes that almost, but not quite, hid the waxen, yellowed white of the bones gleaming on the light of the lit candles they held on their jaws.

A reminder of the days of the Great Waste. The days were mankind turned their backs on God and its message, and indulged in abuse after abuse, each revel bigger, more luxurious and decadent than the previous, draining the natural resources and almost sapping the very life from the land, in a plunge head first towards destruction that only stopped with the emergence of the figure sitting right under that memento of the time- the Bishop.

The man- if that is indeed what he was- that in a single night of fire and horror had bathed all the major cities of the earth in nuclear fire, and emerged with her armies of sled-driving wolves and thin, impossibly wispy war androids coated in green painting, pointy ears rimmed with red rust. Relentless, impervious to all known weapons and tireless, they had struck from the hidden tunnels and dead ends under the cities and brought all forms of Government to their knees. It had been so since then, and the Bishop demanded it be so.

God didn't need intermediaries.

The singing died down, and a boy and a girl dressed in plain, white clothes stepped up. Christmas had always been a time for children, and it kept being so in the Bishop´s reign. This last part of the feast was always for them. The offering of gifts. The tally of the Bishop's list. As the old saying went...

He's making a list,

checking it twice

gonna find out

who's naughty or nice.

He already knew, of course. The ballots had been cast well in advance, with all children of eligible ace in all circumscriptions across the world casting a single vote with two names. The nicest and the naughtiest. And now, they stood right before him. He motioned with his hand towards the girl- a frail, wispy things with a nervous glance and golden hair neatly done in a braid- and patted his lap.

The girl gave a tentative step, then another. She was shaking, and the look in her eyes clearly revealed that it wasn't only because of her bare feet on the snow, or the flimsy white dress, ill-conceived for the cold. The fear those eyes gave out was like a physical thing. A dense, ugly molasses coiling around her every limb. When he finally climbed on the Bishop's lap, her shivering became uncontrollable. Her teeth rattled and her every limb twitched.

It was the smell. While the air in town was crisp and clean- a side-effect on the ban of most polluting energy sources, the very smell of the bishop was something else entirely. It was so many piercing and intense smells in one- burnt ozone, rotting leaves and an intense ferruginous aftertaste, like rust or blood. And most pervasive of all: a biting, cold scent, like that of perpetual ice. Her voice, when she spoke, seemed to have the same quality. The same feeling of his wrinkled, antique skin under her buttocks, and his cracked lips brushing her ear as she leaned in to speak.

"My little elves tell me you have been nice, Lily. The nicest little girl in town. Is that true?"

"I h-have only tried to... to l-l-live as the L-Lord wanted us to, Good old Wenceslas"- she replied through clattering teeth, eyes firmly cast down on her lap as she still shivered like a leaf on a strong wind. She had used the admonition he liked to be referred as to, when she wasn't simply "The Bishop". The Bishop was the punisher, the zealot, the voice and sword of God in those degenerate times. Wenceslas was something more... intimate. Something closer, more personal. He liked to hear it from the innocent mouths of the good boys and girls, with that meek and humble look. Everyone knew that.

The Bishop smiled. It was a smile that brought no softness to his aged features or warmth to his eyes. It was the kind of smile a predator flashes at you because of how it mouth moves to bare its teeth before it leaps at you, its maw ready to tear through flesh and bone.

"So must we all, darling. So must we all. Your humility gives you credit. It's what best suits little boys and girls. And I will see to it that it is rewarded".

The Bishop´s hand trailed from her place on the from of Lily's thigh, up through her belly and chest, and through the smooth skin of the neck, sending ripples of ice and fire throughout every nerve in her frame. After what felt like an eternity, it came to rest on her face, the thumb and index finger gently pinching the girl's chin and pushing it upwards. Against her body's impulse, the girl had enough sense to not try to resist, and allowed her face to be lifted, until her eyes were at a level with the Bishop.

Throughout the rest of her life, Lily would dream of those eyes. He couldn't say what she saw in them, it was too ethereal to be defined. An incomprehensible, interlocking play of a light so bright it singed the back of her eyes, and vile, obscene shapes made of deep-set churning darkness, thick and dense as petrol. Although she would not recall any of those, for years to come her dreams will occasionally show her a brief glimpse of them and she will bolt in her bed, eyes wide open and beads of cold sweat pressed against her skin like a shroud. She gulped, and that motion sent the bile that had rose to her throat back.

Go wait in the sled, child. I shall see to you soon. All your heart desires. All the presents, the sweets, the food, the games and the songs. All the partners, and teddy bears and stuffed toys. All the joyful, wholesome companions from all parts of the world, and the dresses, and the velvet cushions and fresh bed linens, the baths and the perfumes.  All the good, pure children might desire, that you might remember that the way of the Lord is but a promise of bliss. Just keep your spirit humble, child. I would be disappointed if the trap of luxury ensnared you like it did our ancestors. And you would find that disappointing the Lord is... no trivial matter.

The girl nodded, unable to say a word. That last implied threat had piled on her more horror than her mind could manage. She didn't care about presents, or the Lord, or anything. She only wanted to be let free, to run far away from this man. To run to the sled and curl in it, close her eyes and fade into a blissful, merciful darkness until all of this was over. To run anywhere. Anywhere but here.

The Bishop put the girl on the ground and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. The sound of bare feet running trailed before her as she disappeared from sight.

It was the boy's turn. Feeling the icy glare of the man in the throne and seeing his white brow furrow, the boy threw her arms round the Tree of Offerings, wailing and shaking his head.

The Bishop made no gesture or showed any emotion at all. He did know this always so with naughty children. They were petty and self-centered, they simply demanded attention by making themselves difficult. They thought only of their own selfish pleasures, needs and desires, never caring for whom they might inconvenience. He had no time for this.

"Krampus"

With a rattling, metallic sounds, a figure emerged from the shadows near him. It was a veritable tower of black, scraggly fur, thick and dense as bristles, barely concealing the swollen muscles and pulsating veins, thick as shoelaces, that covered every inch of his body like cancerous growths. The face was sharp, solid and beastly, to the point where it had close to no features that reminded of a human visage, topped with two bony, curled horns. Rusted chains coiled around his limbs and wrapped around his massive, barrel chest and wide shoulders. His right hand gripped a long, cruel-looking lash, dyed almost black by numerous patches of clots and dried blood.

The Bishop always had one, or several of them, nearby. A race of mutants, born of the scorched nuclear wastelands near the cities that had been nuked on First Christmas night. Adapted to life in an environment so thick with radiation that nothing short of carcinogens on legs could live there, living in constant pain from radiation burns and diseases. Their lives were short, miserable and brutal, and they had tempers to match. They feared nothing and no one, except the old man in his crimson robe.

There was no need for words, no room for pleas, or even for reaction. The creature dashed and came down on the boy in a single breath. The assault was swift and brutal, the lash's sound filling the air like the crack of so many thunders, and within seconds, droplets of blood sprayed the tree.

"Enough. The Lord does no wish for blind retribution. He must understand the error of his ways, and he can't do that if he's dead. Bring him here"

The Krampus grunted some unintelligible response through burnt vocal chords and dragged the half-dead boy by the scruff of his neck, throwing in unceremoniously at the feet of the old man before receding again on the shadows behind the throne. The Bishop stood up.

"Look at me, boy"

With gigantic effort, the boy raised her face. Her eyes were overflowing with tears, snot running freely from his face. He wasn't shaking. He didn't have the strength to. All of it seemed to be slowly seeping from the deep crimson, white-fringed gashes on her back that slowly trickled blood all over his skin and clothes.

"This is your own doing. By paying heed only to your desires and your selfish pride and greed, you do not honor the Lord. You instead honor those"- here, the older man pointed at the skull-dotted fir tree. "Aye, those before us who almost spelled doom on themselves and everything in the world. Selfish like you. Uncaring and unloving like you. Unrepentant, defying the laws of God and their messengers like you did. Unwilling to face their own mistakes, perpetually seeking to avoid their rightful punishment"

The boy started crying. A silent, miserable weeping born of the utmost pain and terror. He had been selfish, sure. He had bullied and hurt others, he had stolen, he had forced others to do his work and beaten them. But he didn't know anything about those people the Bishop was talking about. He wasn't like them, didn't want to. Didn't want to destroy the world like he was saying he did. He only wanted... what?

He couldn't say. He was only a boy. He didn't know better. And now, it seemed to him, he will never had the chance to.

"I meant no harm..."

The Bishop stop his tirade. A dense silence fell over the square. Interrupting the Messenger of God was something no one had ever dared to do before, and the gazes of everyone shifted nervously, as if expecting, at any time, to see the monstrous shape of the Krampus to emerge again and finish the bloody work it had started not long ago.

The Bishop smiled. And for the briefest of seconds, it seemed as if that smile wasn't the predatory grin he'd shown Lily or the other in the city, but a smile of genuine, utter kindness and understanding. As if he could really understand that idea, relate to it. He knelt and spoke to the child.

"I know, my boy. I know. More than you would ever believe possible for me to"

With infinite tenderness, he pressed his arms against the boy's back and rolled him over. He then hooked those same hands behind the back of the boy's knees and under his shoulderblades, lifting him effortlessly from the ground. He stood there for a second, his gaze cast skywards, like holding in to a thought of his.

"You might go in peace"- he said, addressing the gathered people after looking at them.

"Praised be the Lord", was the accustomed reply.

The Bishop turned around and walked towards the sled, parked behind the immense, looming stone mass of the cathedral, the blood still trickling from the bundle in his arms leaving a trail behind him.

The girl was where he had instructed her to be, sitting on the driver's seat of the sledge, hugging her knees as she rocked back and forth, humming some kind of song. The slow, lulling notes filled the air. Such a sweet voice.

Such a sweet girl indeed.

The Bishop opened his arms. The body of the boy crashed to the ground with a dry thud. He didn't respond. He was too weak and terrified to.

Something else did, though.

A chorus of low growls and snarls filled the air as the eight wolves padded forwards, claws scuttling on the ground. The scent of flesh and blood filled their senses as they sniffed at the air, and their growls grew deeper. One of them stepped forward ahead of the rest. Her eyes were of a deep black, like tar, and his maw was crisscrossed by deep gashes of livid scar tissue, from which blood trickled down constantly. The boy tried to scurry away, but the bishop merely smiled and, advancing, put his hand over the grotesque face of the wolf. The creature let out a deep, rumbling sound and settled down in a sitting position.

"Don't mind Rudolph. He's always been one to leap on forward. I think he somehow wants the attention, but he won't move a single muscle until I give the order. Isn't that true, Rudolph?"

The answer was nothing like the boy would have expected. Instead of the growls and snarls, Rudolph ("the Red-nosed" as he had heard him referred to before) answered with a loud, long whimper, more fitting for a whipped dog than for the mass of wiry, powerful muscle and razor sharp teeth he was.

"It is time for me to leave. The word of Lord is for everyone in this world, and there are still many places to visit tonight. I would have you come with me. I would not love anything more, my child, than to show you the error of your ways. To show you the rotten, ugly truth of the world and our past. To tell you how that seed of sin that is already growing on your chest might be the undoing of us all. In days past, we celebrated you. The children. We pampered and love you. We made a bright new world of advancement, of hope. A society where the means to make everyone equal would exist, so that even if our world was a cancerous mess of conceit, corruption and sin, yours will not have to be"

The Bishop stood silent for a second, musing. The notes from Lily's song hung in the air. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"We forgave you. We thought you would grow to know better, that children would be children. We toiled and gave you this new world for you to live in peace, and you... you simply took it and almost destroyed it for your pleasure. I can see that you do not understand. And I wish, my sweet child, that I could tell you about it. That I would teach you. But I made that mistake once. I don't plan on repeating it. Evil must be nipped from the bud, and my sled drivers, well. They need energy for the long trip. Bless you, my child. Tonight, you join our Lord, who was born. I wish I could go with you. But the Lord's work is never done".

The boy raised his head. The notes of Lily's song enveloped him and for and for a moment, as he stared into the void of the wolf's eyes, for the first time in his life he felt peace.

The wolves advanced.

-It's...¿shiny?

-Isn't it?-Luke was looking to that small glass star like it was a magnificent piece of art.

-...Although a bit grubby

-Well, it is an antique. From Earth, you know?-Said he, defensively.-They used it in a holiday called Christmas. They put it at the top of a tree. They had trees inside their houses and they put decorations in them. It was probably a fertility rite, or maybe they prayed to the trees so the Spring would come again. Scholars are not sure about...

-We are not going to put a tree inside our cabin.-Said she, sternly. Luke was a good partner. Responsible, affectionate and sensible. Usually. But sometimes a bit too enthusiastic about his hobby and he needed to be reined a bit, or he would convert their module in a historic recreation of a 21th century eartly house. She still was very sure what was so good about the Doom Age, but he found them fascinating.

-Yes, I know but...well...I was thinking...maybe we could put it in our table? In the Togetherness Dinner? I was preparing a menu inspired in that century, Lucy and Thomas are very excited about it. And you know my fathers* love historical dramas...Please?

Lucy and Thomas, of course. They often went LARPing together with Luke, and they loved Doompunk stories.

-You know, Togetherness day is to celebrate you loved ones, and your bonds with family and friends, not sure how Charismas or whatever is related to that.-She looked at him. He was looking at her with puppy eyes. Amanda sighed. Sometimes, you had to just go with the flow.-Fine, but don't tell my parents about the fertility thing.

He had had such a satisfied expression that she had to kiss him. He was adorable.

-Yes, yes, you win. But next year, I choose the decoration. And it will be red, green and lots of lights and golden galaxies. Proper Togetherness Day decoration. Nothing like Christmas, OK?

-Mike8, what means …ss-snow”? - the boy asked as he raised his head from the glossy catalogue he was reading.

The older man moved closer to the youngster. The two were hiding inside the small steel shelter for the day before moving on. Outside, the temperature was well above the survival barrier. The only option was to travel by night. The continuous heat waves had forever changed the landscape in a matter a few decades, and the radiation had finished the job.

The world had become a fight for survival. Still, Mike8 was keen on teaching his son to read. The ability to read the signs in the abandoned cities and roads could save his life someday when he was on his own. The boy was really his biological son. Not a cloned offspring. So his lifespan was not limited to a decade. Even when the two were alone, it was not safe to use words like “dad” or “son”. Any weakness like that could easily be taken advantage of by the Raiders or the Genealtered or other scum roaming the deserted Waste Lands.

-Snow... - Mike8 savoured the word, trying to think. It reminded him of the stories his grandfather had told him. But he was not sure. Many of the memories he had belonged to someone else.  –I think it was like white powder falling from the skies. Something like the dust  and the dirt out there, but white. Beautiful and pure. And soothing and cold.

He smiled to the young boy who continued reading mouthing the words.

–Pa... Mike8, I not know. This. Presents? Tree?

–Let me see, CurCD - Mike8 looked puzzled. They had found the magazine in an abandoned shopping center. It had pictures of devices and what looked like imitations of vehicles for young children. And he read parts again to the boy and there was something magical about how the distant memories of joy and togetherness brought deep sadness to their small world. As if opening a window to a different world made them realize how bad things really were. Mike8 stopped reading. There were too many questions in his mind. Maybe things had been better before, like in the magazine. Or maybe these were nothing but fantasy stories created by the same people that had put the memories into his head. That was more plausible. Because if it had been like that, like the pictures in the magazine...  Why had they allowed it to end like it did?

Oncea upon a time...

A new king in a far land...wants to celebrate the end of year with a new common, it´s very difficult job because the population always put the christma´s tree in their house.

The king and his council prefer a common with live to common with dead (tree reference)...the idea was...the king´s money buy the christma´s trees in the kingdom...this trees was burning in the casstle and finally nobody could buy a crhistma´s tree...

Nevertheless, the second part of this plan was better, the soldiers of the King gave a seed for each citizen...the population should use this seed for grew up their self christma´s tree...the christma´s tree need a lot of years  to obtein the same size that the common tree...for this reason, every year the people look after without cut the life of the trees in the kingdom...

The Tale...of christma´s eve...you never have forgotten...

Come here, son. This year you are twelve years old. Now that you are a grown man, it's time for you to come to The Big Hunt. But, before you will go, let me tell you the story about the origin of The Big Hunt. This is the story my father told me.

Long time ago we had to flew away our home. Our planet was dying and we went on search for a new one, a planet that we could call home. We arrived this planet, the one they called Earth, on a 24th of November. The natives were weak, soft, awkward… When they saw us, they tried to be our friends. Our friends!! Can you believe it? Those little pieces of crap thought that they were like us, that they could compare with us. All we did was laughing at them -¡Jo, jo, jo, jo!-

We gave them a month so they could run and hide, like the inferior animals they are. And then, on a 24th of December, we began the hunt. It became our tradition, the way we celebrate getting a new home. Every 24th of December we, the men, go hunting humans. Then we return with some good pieces. The women use the meat to make a big feast and we eat a tasty dinner on 24th and an abundant meal on 25th. When the women undo the corpse, they give the skulls and the bones to the children, so they decorate the outside. The children hang the bones on the walls and on the trees that surround the house. And we put bright lights so the bones could be seen from far away and the others humans remember they are only meat.

Now you are a grown man, you’ll take part as one more of us. And I hope that, in a few years, when you’ll have your own children, you’ll tell them the story the way I did with you.