The small young frightened figure stood huddled in the doorway holding itself in fear, in front of them at the table a large man was sat with his back to the small person, unaware of his presence. The bigger figure had a bottle of half drunk whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, his head swaying backward and forward a few inches above the table as he raved.
"Nothing! no one out there in this stinking world deserves ANYTHING! Season of good will? Fuck off! they are all scum, people neglecting their kids but not neglecting to have a massive fucking telly! Eating shit food and swilling beer and smacking the little sods all over the place. Shouting and screaming at each other in the streets just because they cut each other up all the while wearing fucking stupid santa hats, giving to charity just because they feel bad about a year of being selfish and grasping. Cunts! every single one of them. And the behaviour in the shops! What the fuck do they think they are doing - like they are expecting the fucking end of the world or a famine or something. The sooner some big fucking rock smashes this planet to dust the better it will be! I am SICK of all of them"
By now the small figure had drawn near, and placed a hand gently on the old mans arm.
"You know, you will feel better tomorrow - you do every year. Go to bed Santa, please."
The old man turned his bearded head around and looked at him with sad bloodshot eyes. And smiled slowly.
"Ah, you ...heh. This is the one time of year that your Elf looks after you."
