A Christmas Story For You
A dark December night; Rev. Billy was headed home. The wine had flowed freely that evening, and The Reverend was delirious. Bacchus had convinced Billy to take a ‘shortcut’ back to his flat, through a maze of shadowed alleyways.
It was then that the Devil himself appeared, holding a copy of the NY Times in his deformed hand.
“Why hello there, little Billy! Gee! It’s been awhile! We haven’t seen much of each other lately…you haven’t been very nice to me or my friends, you know. And to think of all the good times we had back when you were young…”
The Devil sighed, shaking its monstrous ears in the darkness.
Billy staggered back, horrified, and confused by the wine. “Whuuu…?”, he managed to slur. Staggering back, he fell against the wall, sliding down to the wet cement. His immaculate white jacket was now stained with the filth of the city.
The Devil giggled, and spoke.
“There’s no need for all that, little Billy! I just came to give you a Christmas present! It’s from me and my friends, at the New York Times! We thought about it, and decided that maybe you were right all along! And, even though we didn’t mean to, we used some of your ideas to sell newspapers, and gosh, we’re sorry about that! We decided you deserved your fair cut.”
The Devil extended its copy of the NY times towards Billy, and The Revered saw the gift wrapped inside.
It was money…a lot of money. Hundred dollar bills burst forth from the newspaper, nearly spilling out onto the ground, and a golden chain dripped out from between the folds.
Now, some may call the Reverend Billy a saint, but he is a sinner; at the sight of this glorious wealth, he faltered. He thought about all the things he had to give up; the time spent in the blazing sun of southwestern summers.
He thought of being arrested and thrown into some hell time and time again.
He thought about his wife, Savitri.
He thought about his Choir.
He thought about vintage wines, and good food.
And, after all, wasn’t The Devil right? They had been plagiarizing him, by God, and didn’t he deserve his slice of the pie, his cut of the action, his sweet dream of a lakeside cottage and mild amount of fame? You know, the kind of fame that gets you good deals with the locals? Didn’t he deserve at least THAT?
Little Billy reached out his hand towards The Devil. As his fingers brushed a sagging bundle of money, a vision consumed his sight.
Maggots. Maggots. PS3’s and maggots. Starving children and maggots. Coffee fields and maggots. A giant roach hanging over the entrance to a Wal-Mart, and a little girl screaming, “I don’t wanna go in!” as her parents carry her into the store. He dreamed of a bum chasing him through an alley with a broken wine bottle; it was his wife, Savitri.
The Devil giggled again.
“Did you know that every week, thousands of people are losing their homes and their savings? Why, gee, thrift is the new thing! Our key demographic has less discretionary income every year, and, by golly, that’s just a fact we are going to have to face up to!
“To make a long story short, Bill, we want you to come to Disney Land to hold your sermons! Of course, things are going to have to change, you know, more comedy less of the gloom and doom stuff….and no more talking bad about my friends, too. But, I have plenty of competitors, and you can say all the bad stuff you want about them!”
To Billy, who was still lost is his dream, these words sounded as if they were spoken from the far end of a long, empty tunnel.
The Devil smiled, “And, you know, Little Billy, you’d really be helping a lot of those kids overseas. What would little Ai do if she couldn’t work in my factory?”
At these words, the vision burst into Billy’s mind. A Chinese girl, around 12 years old, slumped over in an abandoned building. She was clutching the bloody stump where once was her hand. Maggots writhed in the wound, and the girl was obviously blind. She was wearing some sort of work uniform. The giant roach chattered in the background.
“Yep!”, continued The Devil, “She’d probably die just like that if she didn’t have her job, by golly! You see, Billy, we’re your friends…we just want to make all your dreams come true!”
These words were like a cold bucket of water, thrown in The Reverends face. The satanic visions dissipated immediately.
“NOOO!” he shouted, “BACK!! BACK SATAN!! I REFUTE THEE!!! GET BACK TO YOUR PIT!!”
The Reverend rose up, swung his arm in a wide arc, and slapped the NY Times from The Devils twisted hand. Hundred dollar bills billowed up into the air, and on each one was printed the image of the giant roach from Billy’s vision.
“I REFUTE THEE!! I REFUTE THEE!! I REFUTE THEE!!” The Reverend screamed, throwing wild punches at the shadowy form of his nemesis.
“AIEEE!!” howled The Devil, and vanished into the darkness, taking his Judas’ gold with him. All that was left was The Reverend and the falling snow. The alley had gone silent.
Billy looked around, took a deep breath, and then fell to his knees to pray.
THE END
Happy Holidays to Billy T., Savitri, and the Choir
-SeaQ
It was then that the Devil himself appeared, holding a copy of the NY Times in his deformed hand.
“Why hello there, little Billy! Gee! It’s been awhile! We haven’t seen much of each other lately…you haven’t been very nice to me or my friends, you know. And to think of all the good times we had back when you were young…”
The Devil sighed, shaking its monstrous ears in the darkness.
Billy staggered back, horrified, and confused by the wine. “Whuuu…?”, he managed to slur. Staggering back, he fell against the wall, sliding down to the wet cement. His immaculate white jacket was now stained with the filth of the city.
The Devil giggled, and spoke.
“There’s no need for all that, little Billy! I just came to give you a Christmas present! It’s from me and my friends, at the New York Times! We thought about it, and decided that maybe you were right all along! And, even though we didn’t mean to, we used some of your ideas to sell newspapers, and gosh, we’re sorry about that! We decided you deserved your fair cut.”
The Devil extended its copy of the NY times towards Billy, and The Revered saw the gift wrapped inside.
It was money…a lot of money. Hundred dollar bills burst forth from the newspaper, nearly spilling out onto the ground, and a golden chain dripped out from between the folds.
Now, some may call the Reverend Billy a saint, but he is a sinner; at the sight of this glorious wealth, he faltered. He thought about all the things he had to give up; the time spent in the blazing sun of southwestern summers.
He thought of being arrested and thrown into some hell time and time again.
He thought about his wife, Savitri.
He thought about his Choir.
He thought about vintage wines, and good food.
And, after all, wasn’t The Devil right? They had been plagiarizing him, by God, and didn’t he deserve his slice of the pie, his cut of the action, his sweet dream of a lakeside cottage and mild amount of fame? You know, the kind of fame that gets you good deals with the locals? Didn’t he deserve at least THAT?
Little Billy reached out his hand towards The Devil. As his fingers brushed a sagging bundle of money, a vision consumed his sight.
Maggots. Maggots. PS3’s and maggots. Starving children and maggots. Coffee fields and maggots. A giant roach hanging over the entrance to a Wal-Mart, and a little girl screaming, “I don’t wanna go in!” as her parents carry her into the store. He dreamed of a bum chasing him through an alley with a broken wine bottle; it was his wife, Savitri.
The Devil giggled again.
“Did you know that every week, thousands of people are losing their homes and their savings? Why, gee, thrift is the new thing! Our key demographic has less discretionary income every year, and, by golly, that’s just a fact we are going to have to face up to!
“To make a long story short, Bill, we want you to come to Disney Land to hold your sermons! Of course, things are going to have to change, you know, more comedy less of the gloom and doom stuff….and no more talking bad about my friends, too. But, I have plenty of competitors, and you can say all the bad stuff you want about them!”
To Billy, who was still lost is his dream, these words sounded as if they were spoken from the far end of a long, empty tunnel.
The Devil smiled, “And, you know, Little Billy, you’d really be helping a lot of those kids overseas. What would little Ai do if she couldn’t work in my factory?”
At these words, the vision burst into Billy’s mind. A Chinese girl, around 12 years old, slumped over in an abandoned building. She was clutching the bloody stump where once was her hand. Maggots writhed in the wound, and the girl was obviously blind. She was wearing some sort of work uniform. The giant roach chattered in the background.
“Yep!”, continued The Devil, “She’d probably die just like that if she didn’t have her job, by golly! You see, Billy, we’re your friends…we just want to make all your dreams come true!”
These words were like a cold bucket of water, thrown in The Reverends face. The satanic visions dissipated immediately.
“NOOO!” he shouted, “BACK!! BACK SATAN!! I REFUTE THEE!!! GET BACK TO YOUR PIT!!”
The Reverend rose up, swung his arm in a wide arc, and slapped the NY Times from The Devils twisted hand. Hundred dollar bills billowed up into the air, and on each one was printed the image of the giant roach from Billy’s vision.
“I REFUTE THEE!! I REFUTE THEE!! I REFUTE THEE!!” The Reverend screamed, throwing wild punches at the shadowy form of his nemesis.
“AIEEE!!” howled The Devil, and vanished into the darkness, taking his Judas’ gold with him. All that was left was The Reverend and the falling snow. The alley had gone silent.
Billy looked around, took a deep breath, and then fell to his knees to pray.
THE END
Happy Holidays to Billy T., Savitri, and the Choir
-SeaQ