Ho-Ho-Ho.

Ho-Ho-Ho.

 

Down and out over the Christmas holidays, the

dark winter days and the hunger I felt were enough

to cause suicide to take over my thoughts and then

my brain.

 

I searched the house for a painless way to end my life.

The medicine chest held drugs and razor blades, but

I’ve used them before and I’m still alive. Under the

kitchen sink I find plenty of bottles that say do not

ingest, and there’s Drano too.

 

I empty the bottles into a blender because I’m ready to

surrender. I make a cocktail that will surely bring death.

Then I see plastic bags to put over my head as insurance

for after I swallow my mixture that is bubbling, smoking,

and appears to be melting a hole in my blender.

 

I set a razor blade on the sink to cut my wrist after I drink,

Put a plastic bag on my head to be sure it fits, pour the

stinking blend into a glass, and think I’m ready to drink

when like a miracle, there’s a knock on my door.

 

I open it and an Arctic wind blows snow over my feet.

I look and look again. Then I hear Santa Clause say, “I

came to your house to save your life.” He went to the black

Cadillac he had arrived in and yanked out a sack.

 

Like a Greek bearing gifts he carried it inside the house while

he happily sang, “Ho-ho-ho,”

“I don’t believe in you or God or anything else.” I said, “So

take your sack back out the door.”

“Ho-ho-ho,” he said  and emptied it on the floor.

 

My spirits rose when I saw he brought what I craved and

desired. That would keep me alive and I could begin to live.

Believe it when I say, Santa Clause almost saved my life. I was

so excited I took a drink from the cocktail I held.

 

Santa pulled the plastic bag down over my face and said,

“Ho-ho-ho- away you go.

 

.

 

 

 

 

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