The Very Intolerant Elf
Glenn Matchett
Giftzy the elf closed his eyes as he took a long drag of the cigarette that filled his lungs with delicious poison. This had been the day he would quit he had promised himself this morning; this would be it, but of course, it wasn’t and it never would be. Leaning his head back against the factory wall he heard the noise from inside behind him and contemplated for probably the millionth time about running away.
Elves that ran away from the North Pole monotony sometimes found good lives in the ‘mortie’ world. The Chief never went looking for them because elves were a dime a dozen but the problem was that Giftzy hated morties. They were idiots who invented unnecessary trash to fill their empty lives. Sometimes they would come up with something glorious like cigarettes that Glitzy was all too happy to indulge in but more often than not it was an invention that just allowed the ‘morties’ to forget for a little bit their existence was brief, pointless and full of misery. So Giftzy stayed were he was, better to be bored than hang around a bunch of corpses that don’t know they’re dead yet he figured.
Flicking the cigarette into the snow, Giftzy heads back inside. Vaster than any mortie could comprehend, the factory had elves working as far as the eye could see. To keep things fresh, most elves were switched between the North Pole factories every 50 years except for the factory managers, the ones like Giftzy who had held his current position for over 500 years. Gifts were created then sent to mortie companies who were owned by shell companies that were owned by the chief. It was all part of the illusion that adult morties believed the entire elf operation wasn’t real. If they did believe it, they’d have one of the more boring countries come in here and raid the place. Only the small ones were allowed to believe and only then for a little while. It was all very clever…well if you hadn’t been doing the same task for hundreds of years. Then it became boring.
Giftzy was tired and wanted nothing more than to just be done with it. Some of the morties didn’t even celebrate Christmas anymore. They said ‘Happy holidays’ to accommodate other beliefs and also include those that didn’t believe at all. Sure there were other operations that dealt with other things like the deal with the candles or whatever it was but none worked as hard as the workforces here in the artic, in the cold. Due to the morties ignorance and unappreciative nature, Giftzy wondered why they even entertained continuing their tasks. With their power, their numbers and their magic, they could easily do away with morties. They spend so much time killing themselves and the planet anyway, it wouldn’t even be much of an inconvenience. It would be simpler than words to…
‘Giftzy?’ came a voice than instantly turned the elf’s blood ice cold. She was here, why she wasn’t due for…had it been 100 years since they last spoke already? Swallowing hard, Giftzy put on his best smile to face the chief of the operation of the North Pole, Mrs. Claus. That was another thing the morties always got wrong. Giving credit to the man who spent all year drinking or sleeping or eating until the elves dump him in the sleigh and splashed water in his face and shot him full of enough adrenaline to get him through the magic night where he delivers the presents. Apart from that, the wife is in charge.
Each elf sees her differently, each time they look at her. Some have said she’s ben an old grandmother, a vivacious redhead and one elf who left the Pole said she appeared as a nightmarish entity his eyes got painful looking at. Today to Giftzy she appears as an olive skinned beauty with dark eyes that look like you could fall into them. ‘We spoke 100 years ago about your mood Giftzy. We agreed you’d work on it. How goes it?’ Feeling himself dripping in cold sweat, Giftzy stammers and then laughs nervously ‘I’m all good chief!’ He eventually blurts out. Standing silently with those dark eyes, Giftzy feels his heart pound in his chest. ‘That is…I mean…I feel the morties are a little disrespectful right? Some of them make this big howdidoo about even saying Merry Christmas now. I just feel they’ve forgotten their place.’ Stone silence meets Gifty’s confession and instantly he knows he’s made a huge mistake.
Walking towards him, seemingly growing in height the closer she gets, Mrs. Claus stands over Giftzy staring down at him with her dark eyes that he can only see himself in. It’s like he’s lost in some dark abyss and for all he knows, Giftzy is about to head that way. ‘Everyone deserves to celebrate. These are hard times Giftzy and whether they celebrate us or not…everyone deserves a gift on what was once and for some still is the Winter Solstice. I care not for your bitterness. This is not an easy role, this I do understand but I wished for improvement and see none. You will respect your peers, our operation and the morties or you can leave. Stay and choose to do ill and you will regret it. Do you comprehend?’ All Giftzy can do is nod ‘Excellent. We’ll check in again in 20 years this time. Try anything in the meantime and I will know. I’m always watching. Also, please stop smoking, the stench is drifting onto the presents.’
Before Glitzy can even process Mrs. Claus is gone, all that remains of her is the scent of warm gingerbread freshly baked. He braces against the wall and tries to get his panic attack stopped in its tracks. What do you know? It turns out he was quitting smoking today after all. It must be a Chri…holiday miracle.
