Our hero Santa Claus was at the orphanage, listening to all the children’s wishes; scenes of sugar plums, giant waterslides, and the aurora borealis backdropping the childrens’ wondrous faces. The acid still seeped into his brain—a psychedelic yuletide sponge. He saw through the eyes of the children he made happy. Made whole for a day with satiation and bliss.
After the last child parlayed their wish to jolly St. Nick, he stood up walked towards a loose brick in the wall. He took his white gloves off and cradled its rough surface in his hands. He stared at the porous imperfections, multiplying the bricks in his mind, building something, something palatial. These children, so innocent, deserved something regal to offset the hardship in their life. He closed his eyes.
Even stoned as he was, he had a dilemma. Long ago, when he was first hired as Santa, he had to sign a contract. The H.R. department in heaven has very strict regulations and even stricter accountants. As such, presents are actually deducted from taxes. And distribution is proportional and fair in heaven, which is why Santa is able to bestow such grand gifts on the gregariously wealth and everyone on down the line who pays into the program. If he were to break this contract, he could be in grave danger of losing his Santa powers. But, on acid, he couldn’t weigh the consequences as he normally would. As he would if he were cozy in the north pole by his fireplace overlording his elves tinkering in the workshops which his wife plays the lute.
Santa cried, cried a tear of joy and sadness. And he broke the brick on the ground. From the tatters a liquid began to sprawl across the floor, syrupy. He manipulated the goo with his mind, transforming the run-down orphanage into a palace complete with playpits, game rooms, gilded swing sets, and a Rockefeller-esque tree. The children gazed with amazement at the regenesis around them.
Santa said to them all, “this is for you. This is for your joy. And don’t you worry. If you look under that tree, your presents are all there, one for each of you.”
And all the children ran to the tree to open their presents. Santa waved goodbye to Brian and walked into the street. Walked back with a smile and a gleam in his eye. His cellphone rang. The number was Heaven. He answered: “it’s been a lovely evening here in the city, how was yours?”