The Goose of Christmas Yet To Come
An Allegory For the Scrooge In Us All
Marlon Jobsley was dead. To begin with, there was no doubt whatsoever about that. It was said that he choked on a delicious, organic Christmas Goose. Indeed, perhaps he did, but, in the end, it matters not. Jobsley was, regardless, dead. The memorial tweets had gone viral, the augmented reality tributes had been played and replayed, and the virtual funeral had seen attendees from all over the digital realm. Leon Husk had even given the eulogy in a holographic conference room. Jobsley was as offline as they come.
Snowflakes, genuine and cold, dusted the windows of Husk’s cutting-edge office tower. Inside, Leon Husk’s heart and demeanor were colder than the winter outside. The festive air, the joy of Christmas, meant nothing to this titan of tech.
“Uncle Leon!” Daisy, his cheerful niece, popped up in a holographic projection. Snowflakes and mistletoe graphics surrounded her. “Christmas is about love, courage, and wisdom. But also, there’s a genuine fear of what might happen if we forget that. Join us for Christmas dinner?” She ended her message with a string of Earth-themed emojis.
“Send a digital gift card,” Leon dismissed her, shutting off the projection.
His assistant, Bobby, approached hesitantly. “Mr. Husk, could I leave a bit early for Chip’s school play? It’s a special Christmas story about Earth’s past.” Chip, Bobby’s son, was a beacon of hope and innocence in this digital age, a child who still believed in the tactile joys of the pre-digital world.
Leon barely nodded his mind already on the next task.
As Leon settled into his smart bed that night, a glitch disrupted his sleep sequence. It was an apparition of Marlon Jobsley, his cables and connectors creating a chain-like prison.
“Leon,” the specter began, his voice echoing eerily, “I roam the endless cloud now, trapped in a maze of codes and algorithms. Bro, humankind should have been our business. Leon, we should’ve prioritized them over every algorithm, every innovation. But you still have a chance. Tonight, you’ll be visited by three Senti-Bots. Heed them!”
And they did come — for Jobsley was always right. First, a pixelated ghost reminiscent of early gaming avatars represented the Christmas of Tech Past. It took Leon on a journey through tech history — the excitement of early computing, the early internet community, and the dreams of tech pioneers — the joy of simpler times when technology was meant to connect hearts, not replace them.
The second, a sleek AI with holographic patterns, represented a Christmas Present. It showed Daisy’s loneliness and her yearning for her family to be complete. It highlighted Chip’s vitality, the warmth of the Cratchit household, and how their simple, analog pleasures brought them unparalleled happiness.
The third, a menacing dark cloud of code, stood for Christmas Yet-to-Come. It showed a world where Leon was isolated, shunned, and forgotten — his coldness overshadowed his achievements. The virtual world was all-encompassing, devoid of human touch. Daisy’s vibrant spirit was dim, and Chip, now older, stared at a world through a digital lens, the joy of his childhood a distant memory.
Awakening in a cold sweat, Leon was greeted by the sound of distant carolers. Was it morning already?
He recalled Jobsley’s lamenting words, “Humankind should have been our business, Leon. We should’ve prioritized them over every algorithm, every innovation.” Simply put, he began to make amends, not just with a heart emoji but with actions.
Rushing to his office, Leon started restructuring his business model and focusing on projects that bolstered Earth’s well-being rather than escaping it. He initiated massive reforestation projects, digital detox camps, and community-building platforms that encouraged human connection — sustainability over profit, planet over everything else.
Determined to re-code his life, Leon called Daisy, “Prepare an extra seat this Christmas! I’ll be there!”
He didn’t stop there. Racing to Bobby’s home, gifts in tow, he met Chip — who, despite everything, greeted him with an unbridled joy that could melt the coldest heart. “Thank you, Mr. Husk. Remember, E Pluribus Unum. Whether we live or fade here on Earth, it’s always together!”
Leon Husk, once the embodiment of tech’s detachment, was reborn. He valued love, showcased courage, shared wisdom, and never forgot the fear of losing time.
And every year hence, at each Christmas gathering, while enjoying a no doubt organically raised Christmas goose, an older Chip would raise a glass and toast, “Let’s keep the biosphere of Earth spinning folks, every Earthling, together as one human species, all of us, everyone.”
