There Ain't No Justice Number 054

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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO" OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO' OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO" OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO' OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO |-----------------------------------------------------------------------------| | | | There Ain't No Justice | | | | #54 | | | |-----------------------------------------------------------------------------| - The Last Christmas - by Kel'anth It's December again, and all around, people are putting up their Christmas trees, hanging lights around their windows, stockings above the fireplace, or anywhere they can find a good place in their apartments. Silver bells are ringing in the streets. Soon they'll be carolers in the suburbs, sometimes even here in the city. There aren't a lot of people brave or stupid enough, to go around outside for hours singing here, anymore, but every year, there are some of them, somewhere. The TV news people always catch them for a gooey marshmallow-type story. I've never really seen them myself. But then, I don't live in the nicest part of the city. I'm walking down the street, where for once the people seem almost kinda happy, who do I see but Santa Claus. I know it's a fake, some old drunk who can't find another job. I still feel like ripping his guts out. A little girl, looks five or six, she's sitting on his lap. She's smiling and telling Santa what she wants for Christmas this year. She won't get any of that stuff. Just something cheap and stupid, or maybe even worse. She doesn't know what Santa's REALLY like. The little boy (her brother, I guess) has the right idea. He's crying and he won't let go of his mom and go sit on Santa's lap. He knows to be scared. They're all waiting for Santa Claus. And this year, so am I. This year, I'm ready. This year. The last Christmas. *** I remember when I was little. I believed in Santa. I knew that much of the truth. But I didn't know him, not at all. When I was five, I wrote my Christmas list, in red and green crayons. It wasn't easy writing that list, I didn't know how to write real well then. I remember just what I wanted: a new tricycle, a Super NES, and a million dollars. I closed up the letter, and sent it to Santa at the North Pole. I went to bed Christmas Eve, visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, or whatever. Do you know what I really got for Christmas? When I woke up in the morning, and ran to the Christmas tree, I didn't find any wrapped presents, I found my mother and father. Dead. All I remember is blood and stuff, and the little bows stuck neatly on top of their heads, pink for my mother, blue for my father. The cops told me later they'd both been stabbed through the side of the head with the fireplace poker. Right now, I gotta admit the bows were a nice touch. Real professional. The other thing I found, that mysteriously got taken off the police report, was a trail of my parents' blood, leading into the fireplace. *** I wonder if anyone, lately, has REALLY tried to catch Santa. I'm going to try my best, this Christmas. I spent years saving up for the fancy alarm system I have now. I spent more years saving up to rent a house this December, with a fireplace and chimney. This thing's really pretty amazing. It's got heat sensors, it's got some kind of invisible light beams across the front of the fireplace. I don't really know how it works, but I tested it, it seems to work great. And I don't think Santa could possibly expect me to have such expensive stuff, in fact, he thinks he's made sure of it. The bedroom's like some kinda fort. I got guns, I got a bulletproof vest on, I got grenades, the works, really. I bet I could kill all the pigs in town with this junk. But I'm saving it for someone special. I turned out the light now, and I'm waiting here in the dark. He'll be here, I know he'll be here. I bet he'll be armed too. But he can't bring a bazooka down the chimney with him, can he? I just don't know. *** You know all those kids that you hear about sometimes, the ones that have like 50 foster parents because none of them were any good? Well, that's me. None of my relatives were alive, only one grandmom, and she was in an old folks home. I got stuck with the foster shit. One of my fake stupid dads made me stand in a corner for hours, and everyone else ate dinner, and they watched TV and stuff, and if I moved or I tried to look at anything he would punch me in the back of the head. He just made me stand there, the bastard, and finally I was too tired and I just couldn't stand up, I started to fall down and he hit me again, I just SCREAMED, "I CAN'T STAND UP ANYMORE, I JUST CAN'T!" He hit me again but his wife made him stop, she came down and said she couldn't sleep with the screaming and would he please call it a night? And they weren't the worst ones, there were a lot worse, one guy...well, I just don't want to talk about it anymore. You probably heard it all before anyway, some news special or something, and you said too bad then, but you didn't really care so why should you care now? But anyway, I ran away from home alot. One time they didn't catch me, the "folks" didn't even report it, I guess. I guess they caught hell for it when I disappeared, I hope so, they deserved it. I was 17, just out of high school, when I finally got away. I got into drug dealing, it was the only way I could make money, I couldn't get a "real" job, I thought they'd send me back. I made enough money, I guess. A lot, really, but I spent a lot of it on stuff like whores, when I shoulda spent more on weapons and stuff. I gave it up when I was 19. I was thinking of being a pimp, but I decided not to, I thought, well, it's no use breaking alot of laws, I was lucky, the reason I gave up drug dealing is I almost got arrested, I don't want that to happen again, it would ruin my plans. You see, I was already planning to kill Santa Claus. I got a REAL job, at a McDonalds, and I waited, until I had enough money to afford this stuff, and that's where I am now. Waiting for Santa like some little kid, only THIS little kid's got GUNS. *** Well, it's over now. All the waiting, and everything. I'll tell you how it all turned out. At 12:30 in the morning, the alarm went off, and I went downstairs with my assault rifle. Yeah, it was Santa all right. He seemed like he was expecting me. He shoulda been, with the alarms and everything, right? Well, I pointed the gun at him, and I said, "Sit down, Santa. We're gonna have a nice, long, chat, and then I'm gonna kill you. If you try to get away, or you won't talk, then you'll just die sooner, so you better talk." He sat down and he fucking SMILED. He said, "Well, child, what so you want to talk about?" I almost shot him RIGHT THEN. But I made myself smile back at him, and I said, "I'm not your child, and I think you know what I want to talk about. Or maybe you don't remember. Maybe you kill so many damn people you just can't remember them all. Poor Santa. But you killed my mom and dad. Remember the little pink and blue bows? I thought that was very professional. I figured you must kill alot of folks, right?" "Absolutely.", he said. I was expecting that, and I said, "But WHY??" "Because you ARE my child. My son. Before you could be my child, I had to get rid of those pretenders." "I'm no one's child any more, bastard." "Ah, but you are. I've had others to raise you in my place. Your brothers and your sisters. They raised you to be like me. They raised you to HATE. I see it in you now, my son." "I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING SON!!!!" "Don't deny it. Please don't tell me you don't know who I am. It's not that hard to figure out. I only switched two letters. Didn't you ever wonder why you never see Santa and Satan at the same time? Why we both wear red? How such a fat man could get down a skinny little chimney, where he gets magic flying reindeer? I am Satan, and you are my son." I was really angry, and I was so angry that I shot him. He started laughing. I shot him again. He laughed louder. He started to fucking MELT, and soon all that was left was this spooky-looking thing, like a ghost you see on TV, only made of fire. I kept shooting at him, but he only laughed, and he flew up the chimney again. He left me there, and I was thinking. I guess I really am his son. I keep looking back on my life now, and thinking how people are dope addicts now because of me, and the guy I killed once when I was 18. And how I tried to shoot him. And, well, he's right, I'm just like him. I'm as bad as my "folks". And I don't want to be his son, but I am, I'm just like him, and I can't help it anymore. I figure, I got all these weapons, and I don't got anybody to use them on, or, I got only one guy. And why not? I can't kill him, but I can kill his family, just like he killed mine. Look out, Dad, I'm coming home for Christmas. If it can't be the last Christmas, it'll at least be mine. ۲ Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ ۱ The Syndicate: 908/506-6651 ۱ The Matrix BBS: 908/905-6691 First United Church Kalisti: 602/753-3784 The Cell: 817/870-1060 ۲

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