Year Without A Santa Claus Mother Nature Novels & Stories

he mutters, rubbing his neck, “about that...” “Eh!” I shout, not wanting to turn his emotions into something sour, “I know all about your troubles, Santa.” I wiggle my nose, “I know the North Pole has been especially cold this year, and Santa's had to be very frugal this Christmas.” He nods, “I'm glad you understand.” I shake my head. “That doesn't mean Santa gets off scot-free.” He puffs out his chest, putting on his best deep Santa voice, “What can

I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulder, though it had been the least of my problems. As a light layer of snow trickled to the ground, I shivered. My mind wandered to Christmas. It would be my first Christmas without my parents and my sister Naomi, whom I nicknamed Jules. It would be so different now. There wouldn't be a huge tree in the living room decorated with vibrant ornaments my sister and I had made over the years. There would be no sweet and spicy scent of eggnog and gingerbread cookies cooling on the counter. There would be no once-a-year "I'll love you forever Jace," from my father.

KICKING THE PEBBLES INSTINCTIVELY, it was that time of year again. It was December already, so it was natural that the shopping centre had transformed into a Christmas world of its own. Everywhere she stepped foot in, she was surrounded by faces of Santa Claus, Christma and bright lights. Christmas was just around the corner, and people were decorating their homes and neighbourhoods as they got ready for the festive season. Honestly, Christmas was her favourite time of the year as it was most people. People would give out presents so generously you would think they have a basement full of gifts. It was simply perfect...but this year was different.

But they didn’t want to tell anyone until later during the Yule celebration. They were going to have Yule, which was kind of Christmas without the baby Jesus and Santa. Well, that’s not quite right. Santa was a woman, which Evan thought was pretty cool. His Dad has promised to explain it all to him during Yule, which was fine for now. Truthfully, he couldn’t wait for his birthday in five days. Michael’s Mom had promised that she was sure that they would celebrate his birthday. But his Grandma’s words had been backed up by his Great-Grandma, who insisted he had to call her Nana even though her name was Moreen. That he didn’t get, but if that’s what she wanted, he could remember to do it.

Only, not a single person is awake to witness it. This time, Christmas gift to humanity is apocalypse. Santa rushed to make it an early delivery.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."

I know that Anna feels she must present herself as an independent woman, but I'm making her mine this weekend, truly mine. We make it out front and the cold night air once again reminds us how much colder it is here than New York. Christmas is in a couple weeks and it's nice to see the décor and everyone getting into the spirit. I can see mom's minivan, the same one she has had since I turned sixteen, when we walk a few feet outside. There is a Christmas reef in the front of the car and it's got those godforsaken reindeer antlers on the sides. Mom has always been a Christmas nut.

Lifeless. The last week of school is usually one full of Christmas cheer, but none of us can seem to muster up the spirit without Mateo. He’s always been the one to go the whole nine yards – organising Secret Santa, bringing in his mother’s baked goods and the likes. If anything, this time of year is destroying him.

Lauren stepped into her tiny apartment which she was lucky to have at 21 according to her mother. She shrugged off the biting December wind. The faint reminder that Christmas would be here soon. She grimaced and kicked off her boots. Of course, she was not ready for it. She hated this time of year. Even her fortress of solitude wasn’t immune to the cheer-infected season. Every twinkling light, every saccharine carol, every fake "Merry Christmas" grin all hit like a sucker punch.

We're fucked! "Why is Santa kissing mommy, and not daddy?" He puzzles. Merry-fucking-Christmas The Very End