The Christmas Present

How a Christmas present reflected one from the past.

“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Joe Sound Outa' Tuna said. HIs moniker came from always tuning up his vocal chords while eating his favorite dumpster dive tossed out tuna salad..

“What’s down there?” sniffed Terry Nose All. He constantly sniffed down at life. The art of dumpster diving had only improved his act. “It smells dead.”

Harold hadn’t earned a moniker yet. His empty life was unfulfilled. Words were empty space. He rarely found a use for them. Harold pushed the others aside and dove right in.

“Oh, Geez!” Came echoing out.

“No way!” escalated higher.

“It can’t be!”

The words thrilled his listening audience, thrusting blinking eyes over the dumpster edge.

“Hark! The Harold angel sings!” Harold Angel called out, naming his own true self. He thrust up a dead skunk by its tail to wave it in the air, followed by the black bag bursting with drug money left by the shadowy figure Joe Sound Outa' Tuna had heard fleeing sirens last night.

It was Joy to the World that Christmas eve The three wise men gave offerings to a street urchin single mom they chanced upon and all celebrated down through that Silent Night.