[ TT ] You have just caught someone climbing through your bedroom window and laid them out cold with the nearest heavy object ... Except it was n't a prowler , it was Father Christmas . Now what ?

The moon how bright. The thought escaped me as I laid beneath the heavy, cotton spread, the sheets underneath tucked tight into the bed frame's cracks. I lazily shivered. Warm pleasure crippled me; my head sighed as my body's muscles relaxed. 
 
 Something inside me sung for the pure white snow, which morphed night into an Orwellian day, where ideas hid and muted colors ruled. 
 
 I had lifted the shades up before climbing into bed, so the snow's luminescence would fill my room. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, I should have known better, but I did n't. I could n't since it was n't in my nature. I was Jewish. 
 
 It started with three bumps breaking me out of stasis. It was 3 AM, and the climate outside was gentle. Lone snowflakes drifted in their own dreams. 
 
 Large chunks of snow fell, passing my window. The roof must have gotten overwhelmed by the snow from last night's storm. Weak rationale, but so was I. I was tired from the days commute, there had been so much traffic. 
 
 As I began to fall asleep, a loud bump coming from downstairs made me tear through my carefully constructed cocoon. My feet flattened against the cold wooden floor as my eyes adjusted, the snow light failing to penetrate into the back of my room. 
 
 I slipped into my upstairs hallway and began to creep along its side, avoiding the creeky parts. As I went down the stairs, a small noise coughed. I heard shuffling, it sounded worried. 
 
 Instinct took over, I briskly made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a meat pulverizer I had left out. Small chunks of flesh filled its gaps, I had neglected to clean it. 
 
 I crouch walked into the living room, hidden by an awkward architectural mistake that had knocked off $ 20,000 from the house's purchase price. And then I felt a hand. 
 
 Blurs of red and white. And then just red, lots of red. 
 
 Fuck, I ruined Christmas. 
 
 But do n't worry, I was able to fix my mistake. 
 
 -- -- -- 
 
 `` Father, I need your help'' I remember phoning my dad, Rabbi Nathaniel Goodstein. I told him what had happened, and somehow he believed me, no explanation or pleading needed. 
 
 Now Mr. Goodstein was a portly man. He had a great big beard, with a few side extensions, and a great, hearty laugh. He donned Santa's suit and took command of his reindeer, and all the remaining kids got their presents, and a little extra. That year, many kids discovered the joy of shiny gold coins that leave bitter burns of cocoa on your tongue. 
 
 

