The Next Santa

Up in the North Pole, there is a special academy for children whose only ambition in life is to give other children happiness. This academy, the Excellency, Laughter, and Fun Academy, is more commonly known as The E. L. F.

Anyway, in a small town in Michigan, there was a young lad of 17 named Sprite. He had a straight, black Mohawk, glasses that covered eyes blacker than his soul, tattoo sleeves, a Rottweiler as a pet, and a curious scar on his cheek that was shaped like a cloud. He has had it ever since he could remember. Actually, Santa Claus crept into his room a when he was an infant and stabbed him with a cookie cutter at his face, marking him as the Selected One.

Our Sprite had no idea he was part of a great prophecy that had been written far before he was born. He was about to find out.

At the time of the abduction, around midnight, Sprite was in a small alleyway, giving himself three more piercings in his tongue while simultaneously smoking weed and rummaging through the trash to find food.

“Aah,” he moaned as his blood cascaded down his neck, “I’ve never felt so alive!”

            All of the sudden, Sprite heard a loud bang from behind him, and a grunt that sounded like a pig being stabbed in the neck.

            Whipping around, he saw one fat little black-booted foot sticking out from behind the rusty trash cans and one pudgy pale hand twitching feebly from underneath a cardboard box.

            Sprite, being the street-savvy, quick thinking kid he was, stowed away his bloody crooked piercing needle, stomped on his joint, rolled up the sleeves of his favorite black “Death to Society” T-shirt, and tiptoed like a ballerina over to the mysterious body.

            Cautiously, he peeked behind the random alley objects and screamed.

            Lying on the floor was a fat old man with a fluffy white beard, red nose, and a little mouth with worm lips. The man was wearing a stained wife-beater shirt that showed his curly white chest hair, baggy jeans, and Jordans. The fat guy groaned and sat up, only to be punched in the face.

            “Ow!” he cried, gently caressing his swelling nose. “Why’d you hit me, Sprite?”

            “Get away from me, you old sack!” screamed Sprite. “Why were you spying on me, you sick old fart?” He took out the bicycle chain he always kept in his back pocket of his black skinny jeans and waved it around warningly. “And how do you know my name?”

            “Ah, young Disciple,” the old man said mysteriously, “This outfit is a mere disguise, so I could fit in to this neighborhood. I have known you since the day of your birth. Actually, I know all the names of all the children in the world. I see them when they’re sleeping and I know when they’re awake. I am Santa Claus!”

            There was a pause. Sprite backed away, while re-adjusting his leather, studded belt.

            “Are you high?” he screamed, his black-as-death Mohawk bobbing up and down. “What are you smoking? You’re not Santa! You’re just an obese hobo!”

            “I was the one who gave you that scar, Sprite,” “Santa” said, massaging his butt cheeks gingerly, wincing, “I have marked you as my own. Sprite, you are the Selected One! You will succeed me when I am dead and gone!  You are the next Santa!”

            “AUGH!” he screamed, shooting upwards and knocking the kids to the ground. “I hate kids! EW! It touched me!” Sprite took out his handy-dandy travel-sized Purell from inside of his spiked leather combat boots. He squirted a large amount on his hands and began rubbing vigorously. “AHH! Ugh! Children I hate you! Get away from me! I will stab you! Wait- where am I?”

            As he looked around the room, he realized that he wasn’t in the alley anymore. Nor was he in any place he ever saw in his whole 17 years of living.

            The room was a large hall, like in one of those fancy academies. There were dim torches on the walls and tall windows that let the passerby see the fields, which were covered in snow. In fact, the whole place was freezing. Sprite wrapped his black hoodie around himself tightly.      

            “Welcome to E.L.F.!” boomed a voice from behind him.

            Sprite turned quickly and saw the same old man from before, waddling down the winding staircase, his arms spread wide in greeting. Only now he was wearing a stupid red jumpsuit with a furry red hat and a thick black belt.

            “You look stupid,” Sprite yelled. “Where am I?”

            “You’re in the Excellency, Laughter, and Fun Academy! Where elves learn how to work for me! In your case, you will learn how to be me!”

            “Wha-“Sprite sputtered “You can’t just take me from my street and bring me to this dump-“

            “LALALA CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Santa shouted, shoving his pudgy fingers into his ears.

            And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship…. Just kidding. They hated each other.

To be continued…..