A Christmas Magic

He was sitting alone under the street lamp near to the red phone booth in London. It was already winter, the snow flakes were sometimes to be seen falling down, reflecting the street light, moonlight and the fireworks in the city. It sparkled like the stars above the night sky. The boy, with his thick jacket, green scarf and a red sweater hat, wrap himself in a blanket, shivering, trembling and staring deep onto the Christmas tree across the street.

“Do Santa really exist?” said the boy. He saw all the other fortunate children were happy. They exchanged gifts and smiles. What was more lovely to see was that they have family. A loving mother and father. They were not alone. The boy broke down in tears. He never knew who were his parents. He’s been homeless for ten years. The person who took care of him before, who was also homeless, died of his illness three years ago. It was the coldest story in his coldest days, in the most coldest world.

“What is Christmas?” asked the boy to himself.
“What’s the purpose of life?”
“Why am I here?”
“What sin I’ve done to deserve this?”
He thought to himself. He was tired and weary. And slowly fall to sleep.

The boy was awaken by a touched to his forehead. He woke up and found a white stag with massive horns standing just in front from where he was sleeping. He looked around but there was no one to be seen. He thought he must have been over sleeping. He wished he knew what time it was. The white stag walked away then turn back to face the boy, wanting the boy to follow him. The boy stood up, and followed the stag.

“Where are you taking me?” asked the boy. But the white stag kept on walking and brought the boy next to the Christmas tree he’s been staring at earlier. Beside the tree, the boy was fully caught off guard. He was shocked to see another seven white stag tied to a wondrous red sled with a mysterious big chubby man in red suit. He wore glasses, has a beautiful silver beard and mustache, red winter hat and a big green gloves wore to both hands. The boy stood still, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Santa Claus.

“Are you Santa Claus?” asked the boy.
“Ahh, people always ask me that when they already know who I am. It’s funny.” Said Santa.
“Is this a game? I don’t believe in Santa. It is man made propaganda to make children happy.” Said the boy.
“Boy, you really need some happiness and magic in you. I’m real. I’m here.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“I’m not! Jesus! If I were playing around, how do you explain those white stags?”
“Of course you painted them.”
“Gosh no! Okay. Just come here boy, hop up on here sit with me. We’re going on for a ride.”

Santa talked to his fellow stags and they were all nodding in unison. Slowly the sled they’re riding on hovering up to the night sky higher and higher. Santa decided to stop in mid air to tell the boy something.

“Boy, before we go to the north pole, you might want to say goodbye to yourself. Look down.” The boy didn’t get what Santa was saying but then soon he understood what he meant. The boy saw his lifeless body lying under the street lamp, being carried away on a stretcher into an ambulance car. He died in a harsh winter in the street of London, on Christmas Eve.