Santa’s Last Stand
In the year they outlawed wonder, the streets
turned iron. Gates clanged shut. Sirens called
like hungry things across the frozen city.
Christmas became a crime.
Joy, a pestilence.
Gus wore his red suit threadbare,
beard gone gray as ash, and stood
in a basement lit by one thin string
of fairy lights, flickering, fading,
casting shapes against concrete walls.
When I was a kid,
he said, voice like gravel,
Christmas felt like magic.
Now it feels like
this.
Magic? Marla spit the word
like something rotten. Green streaks
in her hair, arms crossed against the cold
that had nothing to do with weather.
What’s magical about drones
chasing us through alleys
for wearing antlers?
They’ll vaporize you
before you finish ho-ho-ing.
But think. Gus scratched his chin,
eyes wet with something between
bitterness and belief.
One good Christmas.
One night. Feast and laugh
without checking over our shoulders.
That’s worth dying for.
The group traded glances—
hope flickering there, fragile,
a butterfly caught in a storm.
And beneath it, fear,
threading through their chests
like chain.
How? Jake’s voice cracked.
The cameras. They know our faces.
Gus stepped forward,
fists clenched, something old
and furious igniting in him.
We create our own Christmas.
Spread joy in every corner.
Make it impossible to ignore.
Marla uncrossed her arms.
Alright, Mr. Claus.
What’s the plan?
Stockings on doors? Loudspeakers
blasting carols till they beg?
Gus grinned—
weathered face splitting wide,
almost young again.
Operation: Holiday Hijack.
Infiltrate the Winter Solstice Festival.
Stage an unauthorized Christmas.
Carols. Laughter. Everything they took.
But what if they catch us?
Marla’s smile turned sharp as glass.
Sparkler bombs. Confetti grenades.
Trust me—they won’t know
what hit them.
Gus paced like a general before the fall.
This is our chance.
Joy isn’t something you can outlaw.
It’s inside us.
We’ve got to wake this city up.
Laughter rose then, strange and sudden—
memories surfacing from years of silence.
Marla talked about cookies stolen
before dawn. Jake remembered carrots
left for Rudolph’s nose outside his window.
Their voices wove through the dark,
threading hope through rebellion,
forging something unbreakable—
the kind that survives
even the cruelest regime.
Outside, snow fell soft
against cracked windows.
Silent witness. Faint flickering
defiance in every heart,
ready to burst forth
into a world starving for light.