The Last Christmas

Silver-bright runners flash across infinite blackness, ferrying the last glimmer of joy across a dying universe. If there were air, a faint jingling would be heard, the ring-ting-tinglin’ of better times past. Instead, the shimmering sleighbells shudder in silence. No one’s listenin’. This final errand is nearly ended.

Today is, according to a calendar now only in use by exactly two beings, December 24th. Year, unknown. One had long ago ceased counting, as the ever-rising number merely served to remind them of all those who had gone before. On the other hand, the jolly old elf in his bones knows how long he’s been making this epic round trip—but his bones are tired, and he finds no reason to trouble them with questions.

His steeds in fact are but bones themselves. They maintain their loyal service, bound forever to ensure the journey’s success. Nine wraiths, beautiful in their decay. They stride past dimming stars in perfect harmony, led by a sickly red glow. He no longer needs the whip to drive them, but he still cracks it, here in the void. Even gods must have their indulgences.

He misses the days when he traveled merely the Earth. As his charges abandoned that used-up world for ones more fertile, his task became more & more arduous. Trotting a globe in a single night was one thing; to bend an entire galaxy? At first it seemed impossible, it seemed…