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A Fairytale of New York

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my Christmas message. A bit late. Sorry.

Submitted: January 18, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 18, 2019



It entered the solar system on a hyperbolic trajectory. That made it interstellar. Because it was aimed so precisely at the Earth and would arrive on Christmas Day, they called it the Santa Claus asteroid. A few thousand miles above the atmosphere, the object fragmented. Thousands of shards scattered across the planet. One such arrived in Times Square, New York where it made a surprisingly soft landing.

A crowd of reporters beat New York’s Finest to the scene. The watched as the cooling object morphed smoothly into an icon of Santa Claus complete with sack.

“Happy Christmas,” the apparition declared to the rat pack, “I am here to tell you nothing but the truth.”

A raucous shout from the back: “Whadda ya think of Mr Trump?”

Laughter from the crowd.

“Trump is a straightforward man. Like me, he states the truth as he sees it. I understand how that must offend the present company of professional purveyors of silky hypocrisies and smooth evasions.”

That shut them up for a second.

A beautifully turned-out anchorwoman stepped forward. She pouted for her camera crew, purred “What do you think of me, then?”

The spectre inspected her.

“What I see is thirty feet of feeding tube which turns cheeseburgers ..”

She gasped .. .

“.. into fertilizer.”

The entity now spread its arm and encompassed the forty or so mostly male reporters clustering around.

“But in truth what you really meant was ‘what do they think of you?’ -  Well, half of them want to date and mate with you; the other half would skip the date.”

Embarrassed, she stepped back and lost herself in the crowd.

“So why are you here?” came the urbane, patrician voice from the New York Times.

“At last the right question,” purred the thing with the snowy beard and red suit.

“It’s a real nice planet you have here,” it said.

It smiled and waved its arms around, encompassing the view.

“Shame about y'all, an infestation we surely don't need.”

At that moment its sack churned like a colony of angry wasps. It opened the top. A swarm of shiny machines emerged, scything blades making scissoring sounds beneath their wings.

“First the heads-up,” it said, “Now the heads-off.”

The swarm poised in the air a moment, selecting their bloated targets, then a torrent of blood began to flow.

© Copyright 2019 AdamCarlton. All rights reserved.

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