This Is Christmas Metazen

Timmy The Bipolar Elf Natasha Cabot The snow bashed into the windows and the wind screamed at the top of its lungs. The sky was black, like smoker’s lungs. The noise in the workshop was high, chipper. Peals of laughter rang through the room. Timmy was in the corner, working on a train. The wheels wouldn’t go on straight.

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes - each attempt a futile one. The right eye overfowed and a stream ran down his rosy cheek. The points of his ears sagged as he realized he was a failure.

Timmy’s moods ran a zig-zag course, serpentining between delight and depression. Today was a bad day, a very bad day. Christmas always did this to him. Making toys for spoiled, overweight children who would just end up breaking them. What’s the point? What’s the point of any of this? Timmy asked himself.

He had no family to spend the holidays with, his parents were gone. He was alone, like always.

Surrounding him were bubbly, happy elves with no cares in the world. No, they were completely happy to make toys for an old, fat white man and his smelly fying deer. What the hell am I doing here?

I hate all of these people. They all suck. My life is meaningless. Please God, just let me die.

Timmy knew death would never come – elves never died. They eventually froze and became garden gnomes. Oh he’d be alive and aware but he’d never be able to move. This is all I have to look forward to. Being in some housefrau’s garden being pooped upon by large birds and peed upon by wild and domesticated animals. God, why? Why? Bertie, another elf, walked pastf Timmy—staring at him.

“Turn that frown upside down, my friend! It’s Christmas! The snow is falling and everyone is happy!!”

Timmy looked back at Bertie and imagined plunging a sharp screwdriver into the base of his skull.

Knowing it wouldn’t kill him but cause him a lot of pain seemed to lift Timmy’s mood slightly.

“Shut up, Bertie. Just shut up. I don’t want to turn my frown upside down I just want to be left alone so I can do my job, okay? So go to hell,” Timmy barked.

Bertie’s lip quivered and then he started to weep. “That’s no way to talk to a fellow elf, Timmy. Why are you so mean? You’re always so moody. Get help.”

“Yeah, Bertie I will. I’ll stomp my way outside and talk things over with Rudolph because he too is treated like shit. Oh, I forgot. He was treated like shit. Now that his nose shines up like a Hiroshima bomb EVERYONE loves him. Get the hell away from me.”

Timmy threw one of the train tires onto the foor.

“I hate you all!” he screamed.

The other elves looked at him and slowly shook their heads.

“Timmy,” Gezelda – the head elf – said. “May I see you in my offce?” The room fell silent and Timmy made his way into his boss’s offce, the bells on his shoes tinkling mournfully.