Prompt 126-Quintessence-Original (HOLIDAY CONTEST ENTRY)-tiaordona

[tiaordona.livejournal.com]

Title: Letters
Author: tiaordona
Rating: K+
Prompt: Quintessence, entry for holiday contest
Fandom: Original
Summary: She thought she had it bad when she had to write a Santa response letter to the brattiest kid on the block, but she learns something that suprises her...and also atones for a lot of things.

 

“Dear Amy…”

           

            That was her name, right? Amy, Ally, Ashley, they all looked the same to me. I glanced down again at the neat little roster, only to be met with the name Amy. Amy Yost. My blood boiled and my face grew hot to the point in which I knew that steam is leaking from my ears. Amy Yost, the biggest seven-year-old brat on my street. And I had to write a response from Santa to her wish list letter.

 

I had to be the unluckiest girl in the world at that moment. But I gritted my teeth and plowed on through the childish scrawl that seemed to dance mockingly across the page.

 

            “Hi!” it greeted me obnoxiously. “My name is Amy Yost. I am seven years old.”

 

            Oh, believe me, I knew who you were. I knew how you cut my sister’s hair and stole all of our Christmas cookies and bawled your eyes out dramatically when I rightfully placed the blame on you. I knew. For a brief second, I wanted for nothing more than to write “SANTA CLAUS DOESN’T EXIST” in red ink, all over the dainty snowman stationary. Somehow, though, I restrained myself, kept my h head level and even. And then I continued to read.

 

            “I think I was nice this year.”

           

            At this, I snorted aloud. Nice? Nice? “Amy Yost” and “nice” were antonyms. That little monster had done nothing but made our neighborhood a flaming hellhole of screaming Hannah-Montana wannabes, and she wanted me to think that she was nice? I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose in a second of barely-contained frustration, and exhaled slowly. I could do this. I could do this. I could do this. All I needed to do was convince myself that this was the chimerical musing of a sweet little girl who deserved every present under the glowing lights of her Christmas tree.

 

            “For Christmas, I want…”

 

            My insides became glazed in foreboding dread when I saw that she had used bullet points to number off all of her potential gifts. This was going to take forever; she wanted everything.

 

            “-Barbie doll beach house

             -dress up clothes

            -Dad to come home from Iraq”

 

            My heart stopped, rose to the center of my throat. Pause, rewind. Since when was her dad overseas?

 

            And then, as if by unseen magic, the pieces of the puzzle fit together in perfect harmony. She misbehaved because she was lonely. She just wanted attention and love. When I thought of my childhood, I fondly remembered thoughts of going to the park, playing games with mom and dad. It wasn’t fair that that when she will recall hers, she’ll think of nights without dad, loneliness, her childish quintessence never fully able to grasp why her father was in a secluded desert, far away from where he truly belonged.

 

I guess that quintessence of innocence could be her strength or her weakness.

 

            With unspoken determination, I stuffed a reindeer sugar cookie in my mouth, trying to assuage the sharp wound in my chest, and picked up my pen, preparing my best handwriting for a girl that needed something to ease her pain.

 

            “Dear Amy,

            Well, thank you for being nice all year round! Things are always busy this time of year at the North Pole, but my elves will work hard to make all of your presents. I will bring your father home safely, but in the meantime, you can always play with your neighbors until he comes back. Have a merry Christmas and a happy new year!

 

            Love,

            Santa Claus”