A Christmas Tale (Sleighing Santa) Ch 1

Chapter One
An Introspective Introduction

Once upon a time and still up until this current day there is a very magical factory located deep in the North Pole where toys are made to be given to good boys and girls once every year from all around the world. In this factory there is a man that you would know very well, a man named Santa Klaus. He lives in the cottage that is attached to the factory with his wife Mrs Klaus. But Santa isn’t the only one that lives at this factory; there’s also a very unique elf named Warren plotting Santa’s death and Rudolph the not yet famous reindeer sipping his beer neurotically. We will have to further introduce those characters later but at the moment Santa is worrying about his size as per usual; “I’m so tall and fat,” Santa moaned to his short and thin wife. “But I haven’t even eaten since October, besides those diet cookies that one of my nice employees; Warren keeps sending me.”
“You seem awfully sad these days, maybe you should go back on the anti-depressants”, contemplated Mrs Klaus, “they seemed to help a bit.”
“But they made me even fatter, I had to go off them I was turning almost spherical, but I guess I could try them out again, I’ll have to talk to my psychologist about it when I go there later.” He gave out his trademark ho ho ho as his psychologist instructs as a way to relieve his anguish. But in his head he knew it was ho ho hopeless.

“Dam Santa, with his phobia of big things,” muttered Warren to himself as he made small plastic soldiers in the factory, “Doesn’t like my idea of making military tanks to give to the boys and girls; thinks there too big, won’t let me make my fighter jets; thinks there too big. DAMN HIM”, he stopped and turned to look at one of his co-worker elves that had stopped working to stare quizzically at him, “What are you looking at?” he yelled after the worker as he ran off. By now all the other elves were afraid of him and his unorthodox ideas for children’s toys. “Why won’t that stupid, fat Santa just die, I’ve given him twenty cookies pumped full of fattening substances each day for the last bi-decade but he just gets fatter and fatter, I was hoping that he would have a heart attack or just kill himself by now, I guess I’ll have to try a more personal approach.”

Sitting alone in the North Pole pub was Rudolph the currently crimson-nosed reindeer looking down into his third beer filled schooner glass. “Sigh, I don’t know what to do,“ he told the bar keeper, “Warren has confided in me not to tell anybody about his plot but it’s too hard, I like him but I like Santa too and I can’t let all the good boys and girls down; they need their Santa. There’s only one way. I must become one of Santa’s reindeer”.