A young man shuffled along beneath disorderly seasonal lights which lent character to flat streets and sidewalks distinguished for most of the year by imperfect conditions alone, cracks and weeds and a chip broken off. One might imagine them to have pools and depressions.
"With all the classics and specials, you'd think I'd have some idea what the true meaning of Christmas is." His thoughts were something like that, though not so organized; in that at least his state comported with the environment.
Just then, he vanished and appeared before a council of mystical adepts who said, "Aid us! Free us from the Three Christmas Terrors. Only someone from another world where the season is as it should be can do it. The first is a rider of a sleigh swifter than slander who corrects the count of every chimney that the taxes might be made more oppressive. The second is the chorus whose carols cause madness, nor is their thirst appeased till the house has nothing left for those who live there. The third is the tribe of butchers whose duty is to hang heads from every tree in Browngird Forest."
The young man did exactly that, and in so doing he discovered the truth of Christmas in search and struggle. Never again, when he was returned to his world, did he neglect a quest for the perfect present or quail when invited to watch a seasonal movie for the fifth time that year.
Finis
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