Santa Clause's eyes observe more than
billion children each, existing
simultaneously at every point on this planet.
With a mind of such abominable vastness
that to gaze within is to invite madness, the
Father of Christmas sees all, records and
judges every deed, and perches like a
nightmarish vulture upon the border
between the world of dreams and the world
of consciousness.
The true name of the entity is lost in the
passing of endless aeons, each of the
tongues of man trying and failing to speak
his true and terrible name. Shengdan
Laoren. Kerstman, Babbo Natale,
Grandfather Frost, Christkindle, Pere Noel,
Weihnachtsmann, Sinterklaas--all fall short
of the horrific truth, "Jolly" Old Saint
Nicholas is old indeed, and in the countless
passing of years the true nature of Santa, if
what humanity perceives as Santa is even
the the beast in truth, has been forgotten.
Each year he ventures forth to spread his
presence across the world, ripping time and
space asunder to visit every home in the
world over the course of some few "hours".
The corpulent Saint tarries in each,
consuming the ritual sacrifices offered to
placate him, taken from the bodies of cattle
and from the fires of the oven. And he
leaves his... "presents", which innocent
children across the world touch and watch
and play with for months on
end--"presents" touched by his hand and
tainted by his presence.
Yet, despite the time he spends in each
home he manages to reach all of them--
every house in the world, despite the
staggering length spending only seconds in
each should have taken. He endlessly
consumes, never growing larger despite the
tons upon tons of mass he eats in the
houses he trespasses into. He travels
through the slightest opening, slipping
through chimneys and ignoring the meager
protection of a lit fire, crawling through
mere cracks in the window despite his size.
The fabric of reality bends and cracks
around him, screeching in pain as he rips it
for his own purposes.
The Arctic has but a sparse population of
animals to eat, and the amount needed to
feed two corpulent humanoid entities and
the countless elven slaves would make a
great impact on the environment--one not
observed by any surveys of the region.
Further, the plants to feed a team of
reindeer would be even more difficult to
come by. So, what do they eat? Why is the
old, old Saint Nicholas so determined to
give gifts--gifts made by HIS workers,
cleverly disguised as copyrighted products--
to children across the world?
To an immortal being, inextricably connected
to
one of the most famous and culturally
powerful holidays in the world, which has
remained true to his nature throughout
history... would such an entity truly eat
food in a fashion humans would recognize?
Does not the fun of new gifts fade away, the
joy disappear from the eyes of children? Is
not the joyous spirit of Christmas crushed
so quickly after the holiday ends?
Do children not lose their sense of wonder,
of
amazement, of simple happiness, as they go
through Christmas after Christmas, year
after year, growing into the cynical being
called an "adult"? An adult who, all belief in
wonderful possibilities gone, would never
take actions to ward away the Kringle?