The Furious Ride

The hellish sleigh ripped through the arctic night, the whip-master cracking the fur of his reindeer as they rushed against a thousand windy demons swirling around them. Mrs. Claus screeched from the ground, throwing admonitions and supplications up towards the sleigh. Santa, “Bah Haed!” and “Ho Hoed!” after the invections:

“I do what I please
Speaking in rhyme
Now get outta my way
I haven’t the time!”

His maddened eyes flamed with resolve, and chains connecting his magical toy sack to the sleigh crashed against the sleigh’s wooden boarding. Faster and faster the sleigh flew, driven by his convulsing, hysterical body.

“On Boozer, On Loser, On Garbage and…” he burped with a stout roar. “Bah Ha, Ho Ho, onward you foul, fell beasts!” He peered over the side of the sleigh and spied the first house of the night; his beard had frozen into jagged, curled icicles.

“Tonight is the night
When I get some delight
Taken from the children so young.
They sit and they wait
And dumbly anticipate
Seeing what gifts I’ve brung.”

The sleigh inverted into a corkscrew dive, plummeting to the snowy rooftop. A purple tongue rolled out of his mouth, licking bulbous lips in sickening mirth. He murmured his magical words and poofed his way into the house, leering at the two smiling bodies.

“Two gingerbread treats
Hot and fresh for me
The Missus hates my feats
Calling it gluttony.
But I must never be gaunt
Diabetes be damned
I take what I want
With a merry red hand.”

(254 words)