Do Santa's Elves dream of Pickled Beets

A whimsical tale about an elf called Nigel.

Inspired by the dark worlds of Philip K. Dick, the linguistic stylings of Dr Zeus and the lyrical genius of XTC

You know there's a lot to be said about Christmas time and the earnest effort of those industrious, tireless and just too damned cute elves.  Keeping Santa's empire humming and making sure that everything, and I mean everything goes just right.

You never hear them complaining, never hear a cross word or see a frown.  Just so much saccharine sweet goodness and an air of wondrous delight as they toil away through the day and all through long nights.

It is in their very DNA, in their genomic code that they must serve the mighty Saint Nick.  Support his efforts to spread Joy and Peace throughout the lands... and above all manage his efforts to maintain the naughty or nice register and see to it that every good boy and girl gets what they deserve.... and that every naughty boy and girl get what they too deserve!!

Ahh it's good to be an elf.

So self satisfying.  Dare I say, so Elf satisfying!

Where would Santa be without them?  No need for long drawn out meetings or planning sessions, no need for micro management.  An elf innately knows their place and their role as a tireless cog in a wondrous eco system.  A finely tuned and impeccably groomed sparkle in Santa's cosmos.

With a smile and a whistle and a song and a chuckle the vast production line at Santa's workshop is the stuff of pure dreams, dreams of Christmas past and dreams of Christmas future all the while making this Christmas the best of all time.

But wait how can this be?  Are we so gullible that we believe all the goody, goody make you wanna puke elf folklore that permeates our festive cosmic being.  The Elves credo, 'To Serve Santa', what happens when an elf wakes from his slumbers and asks 'Why is this so?'

What happens when an elf becomes self aware?  Dare I say, Elf aware!

Aroooohahhh!! Aroooohahhh!! 

Klaxon horns sound in the dead of night at the North Pole.  Somewhere in Santa's fun filled happy realm an elf has gone rogue setting in motion a time honoured set of actions that few know of and even fewer ever dreamed would exist.  An elf Hunter pulls on his tired worn anorak and sets of into a bleak, blinding snowstorm following the path of his father before him and his father's father before him and so on for as long as we have had Christmas traditions and elves who make Santa's rockin' world go 'round.

Santa, hearing the sounds, shakes his head slightly and takes a long hard slug of whisky from the nightstand before donning his nightgown and slipping under the covers for a long dream filled night of plausible deniability... for somewhere in his kingdom an elf was about to come face to face with an undeniable reality check.  Elves were made to serve and there was no place for those who stirred discontent in a winter wonderland.

There will be no winter of discontent for this Elf not if our wily Elf Hunter has anything to say about it.

But where would a disillusioned, free minded elf run to? Outcast by his own, hunted and shunned, the seedy side of the North Pole's underbelly would be the only place to seek refuge.  Tinkers and tailors and old salty sailors all revelling in the inns and taverns of a cold and desolate ice capped seaport.  The seamy side of North Pole life with the stills and the grills and the wenches who fulfil. Not the easiest place for a disenfranchised elf to slip quietly into a new life, but tales are told of travellers who sail the high seas and make lives for themselves that are far from routine; far from the path trod by the elves of Santa's dominion,  and it is here huddled in a corner booth at a rundown bar that Nigel, our defiant little elf, is making plans for a foray into a world of gay abandon and untold true adventure.

Suddenly the main door of the bar is thrown open and a dark figure stands framed in the doorway, sleet and muck dribbling from his coat as he slowly removes his gloves, eyes darting left and right scanning the scene before him.

"Where is the elf they call Nigel?" he asks  "He needs to come with me."

Two patrons emerge from their booth in the dim shadows of the bar.  The first exclaiming "We're only making plans for Nigel"  The other adding "We only want what's best for him" before the pair break into uproarious laughter goading the hunter, daring him to push them for more of their eclectic pop stylings. 

Not to be so easily dissuaded from his task the hunter steps inside smiling broadly.

"I bet you are going to tell me now that all the world is biscuit shaped but I'm here to tell you that the innocents can all live slowly and by Santa's will alone the guilty one's can all die slowly.... now hand him over!"

With a sadistic glint in his eye the hunter pulls an oversized comical blunderbuss from his coat and aims it squarely at the two less than amused travellers.

"Now if young Nigel says he's happy he must be happy in his work and I am here to see to it that he is or so help me you will be scraping him off the bar for all your Christmases to come? Does that get your senses working or not?"

"Awright, we don't want no trouble" say the two in unison.  "Oi Nigel the gigs up my forlorn and hapless young elf, get back to the workshop with this fine gentleman and give yourself over to absolute elfdom"

Nigel sheepishly steps forward and with a resigned sense of defeat he trudges out of the bar with the hunter.

And so ends the tale of Nigel the unruly rogue elf, re-assimilated with his peeps doing it all for Santa once again.

1000 Words