[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Happy Holidays Edition !

Nick sat at the end. The bar was half-empty, and those that occupied it were too. Christmastimes rang cold with loneliness for most, and for Nick most of all. 
 `` Another, old timer?'' the barman asked. 
 Nick gave a quick nod, his cheeks already red from the brandy. It was nice to be warm for once. The world had grown awfully cold. 
 The door jingled as it swung open. The man jingled as he walked in. Nick scowled at the sound. `` **Harold, **'' he muttered. 
 `` Nick!'' he cried out at the sight of the old man. The barman eyed him warily. This young man looked seventeen or eighteen, though in truth, he was much older. `` Nick,'' he said again in an adjusted hush, approaching the man at the bar. 
 The rosy cheeks forced a smile. `` Harold!'' the man feigned. `` How have you been?'' 
 `` I've *been* looking for you in the *Arctic Circle, * you lousy ass!'' The lad was exhausted. His green jacket and hat were a dingy frozen brown. His eyebrows were frosted in ice. 
 Nick shrugged. `` You should have called,'' he said, returning to his glass. 
 `` Your phone has been off for *twenty years*,'' Harold reminded him. 
 This surprised the old man. Slowly, he reached through the folds of his untied coat, eventually procuring a dingy eighties-style mobile phone. Sure enough, it was dead. `` Oh!'' he gasped. 
 `` *Oh*, my ass, Kringle. You've been dodging me for decades. **Why? **'' 
 Nick dropped all pretense of niceness. He took a breath. `` We're *done, * Harold.'' 
 Harold scoffed, paused, and widened his gaze. `` You're serious? We're done? We're done.'' He paused. `` Nick, we ca n't just *quit*.'' 
 Nick laughed a sincere and merry chuckle. `` Harold, my last sleighride was in *eighty-four. * I quit a *long* time ago.'' 
 Harold eyed him, exasperated. `` So, let me get this straight,'' he said, gesticulating. `` You're given the gift of *immortality, * and in exchange, you're given *one job! *'' 
 `` I did n't ask to be brought back,'' Nick snarled, never taking his eyes off his glass. `` I did n't ask for this curse either.'' 
 `` Gift!'' Harold interrupted. 
 Nick snapped back. `` **Unlife, ** was his solemn response. `` I can never rest. I can never be with my wife. *I can never reap my eternal reward as a child of God. *'' 
 Harold drew a breath. `` Jesus, Nick.'' 
 `` And do n't start in about him, either,'' Nick gestured. 
 `` Listen, I'm not trying to be judgmental here,'' Harold continued, attempting to extend the olive branch as best as he could. `` I was never mortal. I do n't know what it's like to have that taken away from you. But do n't sit here and talk to me like I have n't lost the people I love.'' 
 `` There are still others,'' Nick attempted an argument. 
 `` Ich bin der *letzte* elf, **Klaus, ** Harold burned. 
 Nick turned to face him slowly. He watched the tears well up in Harold's eyes. `` What about South team?'' 
 `` *Gone, *'' he stammered. `` Christmas is dying. I can bring it back, but not by myself.'' 
 Nick wiped a single tear from his eye, breathed deep. `` The Christmas we knew is already dead, Harold... Surely you've noticed?'' 
 `` But the Magi *are n't. *'' He stared hard, cut deep. `` If you've convinced yourself that I've been hunting you for twenty years out of *denial, * you need to recognize something *real* quick: Christmas has only gotten darker since you quit, and if we do n't go on tour *tonight, * this may actually be the last Christmas this world gets.'' 
 Nick grumbled. Harold interrupted. `` And do n't try to argue, because you *know* I'm right. 
 There was a long silence that night as Nick contemplated his future. After all, he'd spent so long dwelling on his past. It was hard to look in a new direction. He reached into his long coat and procured a jingling relic, tossing it to the boy. It was a set of shiny golden keys. `` Bring Rudy around front. We have twelve days.''
