Timmy sat in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree with tears running down his face. In the background he could hear his alcoholic father slurring in between violent slaps that no doubt connect with his mother's face. The slaps were echoing so loud within the tiny apartment that Timmy could also feel them against his own face.
Timmy focused on the numerous red and green ornaments that decorated the tree and let his imagination take him away. Timmy began to tell himself that he was now in a magical land known as Christmas Town. In Christmas Town there was no such thing as alcohol, instead there only existed hot chocolate that made anybody who drank it twice as happy as the most positive human being. The citizens of Christmas Town spent their time either singing carols or sledding down the many snowy mountains in Christmas Town. Every day in Christmas Town ended with Ol Saint Nick himself coming to every house and giving every citizen a special gift along with a hug, all in the spirit of spreading Christmas Cheer.
As always, Timmy was quite thankful for his playful imagination. Without his imagination, Timmy wasn't exactly sure how he'd get through life. The demise of his parent's relationship plagued his life every single day. Timmy wasn't even sure if he had ever seen his parents hug or kiss each other.
Even with the ugly incident taking place in his parent's bedroom, Timmy had his mind on other things. Tonight was Christmas Eve and Timmy was eagerly awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. Timmy was shaking with excitement at just the thought of meeting such a legendary man like Santa. He hoped and he prayed the milk and cookies he left on the kitchen would be enough.
The bedroom door was kicked open and Timmy nearly jumped out of his flesh as the door banged against the wall. Standing in the doorway was his father wearing nothing from head to toe. His father walked towards the refrigerator and didn't acknowledge his son's presence. He was inches away when he came to a stop and looked at the milk and cookies. Timmy's father picked up the card his son made and saw huge red and green letters that said FOR SANTA and began to laugh hysterically.
"You gotta be shitting me, Santa Claus? After seven years on this earth you still believe in that faggot shit?"
Timmy looked down far too hurt to speak. This man was supposed to be his father and yet any stranger on the street would give him more sympathy. Timmy looked up seconds before being doused with milk and feeling the glass it was once in shatter over his shoulder.
"NEXT TIME I ASK YOU A QUESTION YOU GIVE ME A GOD DAMN ANSWER, UNDERSTOOD!"
Timmy's mother ran to the doorway and yelled. "Gerald! He's only seven!"
Timmy's father shook the cookies in her direction. "Cindy? Love of my life, unless you want this plate of cookies shoved down your fat fucking mouth I suggest you crawl back into bed and SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Timmy's mother like an obedient dog crawled back into the darkness and under the covers.
Timmy's father surveyed the apartment and even flashed a grin as he looked over his son crying while picking out pieces of glass that pierced his skin.
"Nothing's broken, you'll survive"
Timmy's father began to walk towards the bedroom and stopped. "By the way, if you use any of my booze to disinfect that itty bitty wound of yours. I'll cut your fucking throat." And with that he slammed that bedroom door.
Timmy never knew that such pain could take over a human being. He looked over at the sleeve of his shirt that was stained with blood and felt like he was going to throw up.
Timmy's eyesight began to blur and he began to lie on the carpet. He was moments from passing out, but in his mind he believed he was dying. Even though his world was filled with so much misery and gloom, Timmy didn't want to die. He was still filled with optimism telling him that things would be better. As the world around him began to darken Timmy saw the front door open and a blurry red blob coming in and standing over him.
The red blob reached over and grabbed Timmy's shoulder. Instead of feeling more pain, his shoulder began to heal almost instantly. Even the blood on the sleeve of his t-shirt began to fade away. As Timmy's eyesight cleared up he looked up saw none other than Santa Claus standing over him.
The real life appearance of Santa was far different than what Timmy imagined. Instead of being overweight, the real Santa looked quite muscular. Timmy seemed this had to come from carrying that sack full of the world's toy. What also caught Timmy's eyes were the red coals used as buttons on Santa's suit. They looked as if they just came off a fire.
"Surprised to see Santa isn't a fat old man Timmy?"
The voice didn't come from Santa's mouth but echoed throughout Timmy's mind. He merely nodded in agreement.
"Yeah that's what the children always expect. How's your shoulder?"
"It's all better now, thanks Mr.Claus"
"Not a problem son, and please call me Chris. I always prefer my favorites to call me that."
Timmy felt an amount of happiness flow through his veins that he never quite knew existed. Not only was he meeting a legend like Santa Claus but Santa actually referred to him as one of his favorites!
"Timmy I feel like I should be straight forward with you. I've had my eye on you for quite some time. Even for a boy of seven, you're filled with an overwhelming amount of optimism and joy. I need that amount of optimism and joy back at Christmas Land. What I'm trying to say Timmy is, would you be interested in coming to live in Christmas Land and working for me?"
It only took a moment for Timmy to nod in agreement. He knew there was going to being offered to him here that could beat the life that awaited him in Christmas Land.
"Well Timmy the job I have for you is an officer of the Christmas Spirit. As an officer of the Christmas Spirit you'll judge who has Christmas Spirit and who is ruining the joy and love that Christmas brings. Those who are guilty of ruining the Christmas Spirit will be given coal straight from you. How does that sound?"
Timmy flashed a simple smile to acknowledge that the job was perfect for him. He couldn't wait to punish those ruining the Christmas spirit. He never knew a job so perfect could exist!
"Hold out your hand Timmy"
Timmy did as he was instructed and Santa grasped it. Timmy began to feel a rush of adrenaline and happiness flow through his veins. On the very tip of his tongue, Timmy could taste homemade gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate. In his ears rang every single bell on Santa's sleigh. The overwhelming power of Christmas Spirit was rushing through Timmy's body. It was a feeling that can only be described as one a junkie would have to pay millions of dollars to even experience a small hint of.
After Timmy was filled with enough of Santa's Christmas Spirit for his new job, he was simply reborn. Timmy felt as tall as a skyscraper and stronger than any power lifter. Timmy was more than ready to make Christmas even better than it already was.
"In this house Timmy is the first person who will be found guilty of ruining the Christmas Spirit. I'll step outside and wait for you in the sleigh." Santa put a hand on Timmy's shoulder and flashed a smile. "Welcome to the team Timmy, glad to have someone like you on my side."
Timmy's father was lying in bed preparing an injection before he fell asleep, just like he did every night. The poor soul was foaming at the mouth imagining how great he'd feel with the stuff in his system. Before injecting he looked over at Timmy's mother, who was now passed out from the beating he gave her and chuckled to himself.
"What a lousy cunt"
With the needle inches away from his vein, Timmy decided this experience would be far better with some more alcohol in his system. He jumped out of bed and kicked open the bedroom door. He looked towards the Christmas tree and didn't see his son. Gerald was far too buzzed to care where exactly his son might be.
Timmy's father opened the fridge and pulled out the first bottle of cheap whiskey he found and turned around. He looked out into the living room and saw Timmy standing in there looking directly into his eyes. For a second Timmy's father felt fear coursing through his body, but reminded himself what was frightening him was a seven year old.
"What in the fuck are you looking at?" asked Timmy's father, in between sips of whiskey.
Timmy slowly closed his right hand into a fist. Timmy's father accepted this as a challenge of his manhood.
"Boy if you thought your shoulder hurt just you fucking wait!"
Timmy walked calmly over to his father. Timmy's father was so pissed off about Timmy's newly found confidence that he whipped the bottle of whiskey at his son's head. A few stitches would teach the little shit who exactly was the man of this home.
Timmy's father watched with excitement as the bottle of whiskey smashed over his son's skull. Pieces of glass flew left and right, but Timmy still stood there calm and collected. All of the confidence in Timmy's father left his body. He wanted to run and lock the bedroom door behind him to escape this monster. Before he could make a single move two fairly large pieces of coal flew from Timmy's clenched fists and went directly into Gerald's eye sockets. Gerald tried to let out an ear piercing scream but before he could his son's hand went over his mouth, filling it with even more pieces of burning coal. The last thing Gerald noticed was his tongue disintegrating under the pile of coal.
Timmy looked over the corpse of his father and was very proud of himself. Almost instantly he could feel the Christmas Spirit becoming even stronger than it already was.