Bio-Powered Sleigh

Bio-Powered Sleigh

A reading class assignment I thought I'd share with you guys. Tell me what you think, and have a fun Christmas!

published on December 18, 20131 read 1 reader 0 completed

The Only Chapter

Bio-Powered Sleigh
Santa’s sleigh was perhaps, the least energy efficient vehicle on Earth. The amount of gasoline it took to power it was astronomical, and it had terrible mileage. Plus, with the steep costs it took to import it overseas, even an enterprise worth millions of dollars (Santa’s workshop made Chinese factories powered by child labor look like lemonade stands next to the Cool-aid brand) had a hard time paying the expenses.
        And now that those darned elves had started demanding, of all things, to be paid for their long hours of fruitless labor, profits were at an all-time low. Of course, they had tried alternative energy sources. Reindeer droppings were considered, but the poor creatures couldn’t, err, excrete quite fast enough to fuel the sleigh for an hour’s flight, let alone an unforgiving trip around the world. Solar power was out of the question, most elves could live their entire lives without getting a glimpse of the sun’s rays down at the North Pole©.

        So, the corporate executives (Santa was only a figurehead after all) offered a hefty cash bonus to any elven laborer who could come up with a cheaper and more efficient source of energy for the company’s flagship.

        Every elf around was pining for an idea good enough to get them off the construction lines and insure that they never had to work on the bottom levels of the corporate machine again (and make sure that if their pension plan failed them, they had money stored away).

        While the little worker ants strived to think of anything that could work in order to please their queens and kings, a convicted felon was sitting silently in his cell.

        Hamilton Baucom was his name, and this elf lives without a drop of shame! That was his life motto, anyway. Without shame, guilt, or a conscience, anything was possible; his parents had taught him this from an early age.

The gates of the Arctic Penitentiary were more or less, revolving doors to him. He knew all the guards by name and often played poker with the Warden and his pals on Tuesdays. Right now, he was serving two months for illegal sugarcane distribution (the stuff was addicting and slowly tore apart your mind, and seeing what it did to his customers made sure he never tried the stuff).
        In a few weeks, he’d be out, at least until he was busted for some other misdemeanor. Attempted murder, obstruction of justice, larceny, assault while under the influence of alcoholic cocoa, you name it, he’d done it. He was truly the envy of all future convicts to come.

        At the moment, a guard was sitting outside of his cell in an iron foldable chair, reading a newspaper that, when fully extended, was taller than him. He was whistling cheerfully while doing so, making Hamilton think that ripping off and then consuming raw his ears was a pretty good idea. Though he spent roughly the same time in prison as out, he still hated being shoved into the damp, grey, windowless cell. And unlike cells from the past whose floors were made of dirt and wooden planks, the ground was solid concrete. Good luck digging out of that with a spork you smuggled away from the cafeteria.

        However, the headline of an article on the back of the newspaper caught Hamilton’s attention. 50000$ REWARD OFFERED FOR FIRST ELF TO COME UP WITH CHEAP ENERGRY SOURCE FOR SANTA’S SLEIGH! Obviously, the chump who wrote the title didn’t know how to be snappy and to the point, but Hamilton didn’t care about that. Only those fat stacks of cash that could be lining his pockets in approximately 19 days, (but hey, who’s counting?).

        So while frantic elves presented their ideas to the factory overseers (the ideas had to be green lighted before the executives heard the quietest whisper of them from the harsh arctic wind), Hamilton was counting down the days while he had a long brainstorming session.

        In the prison’s library, the thought came to him while reading The Silence of The Lambs, though the idiotic librarian who approved that book as appropriate reading material for criminals (think of all the wrongdoings that could be directly inspired by this book) should be given the axe. A dim light bulb floated above his head, radiating sick and twisted brilliance.

A week later…

        A raging maniac burst into a room, knocking the door over with brute force. Behind him rushed two bulky security guards, who both tried to tackle this sociopathic elf. He sidestepped one, though the other leaped on top of him, bringing him down to the carpeted floor. An elf of above average height in a suit stood up extremely fast, knocking over the chair he was sitting in. He slammed his fist on the desk he’d been working at, surprised, angry, and a little scared at the same time. It wasn’t every week a psychopath rushed into his office (normally they targeted his downtown apartment).
        “What’s going on in here?!” It seemed a pretty reasonable question to ask at the time.
        The two security guards were apologizing while forcing the nut-job to his feet. They pinned his arms behind his back and were pulling out a pair of handcuffs, but the intruder seemed pretty determined. He jumped, sending out a kick with lightning fast reflexes, causing one guard to fall to the ground clutching his groin. He slammed his body against the other surprised guard, who was still processing what had just happened. He too, fell on the ground, making a large THUMP! Quickly, he grabbed the handcuffs and secured one end around a leg, and the other around his comrade’s arm. Any attempt to get up would result in tiny metal spikes tearing into their flesh, not to mention extreme discomfort and possible dislocation of several bones.
        Seemingly satisfied with his work, the assailant turned back to the executive.
        “What’s going on in here? I’ve got the idea of a lifetime, so take a seat and LISTEN!”
Christmas Eve

        This night would be the last time Santa’s sleigh flew on gasoline, (because we all know the Reindeers are just for show) for while it was full of presents as it would be any other Christmas Eve, a few other important tools were placed inside, including but not limited to: pistols, silencers, dozens of round of ammunition, and lots of sacks that weren’t for carrying presents.
        A few elves stood outside in the cold night (though really, there weren’t any days out there that they could honestly say weren’t cold), mulling over what was about to go down.
        “It’s just… it goes against everything we were ever taught about Christmas.”
        “Maybe, but they’re on the naughty list for a reason. I doubt they’ll be missed too badly.”
        “I guess. And who would ever guess it was Santa and his elves pulling off the job?”
        “All I know is, we’re getting paid way more for this than our old factory jobs.”
        “Yeah.” A fist was raised in the air. “To increased wages!”
        More fists were tossed up. “To indoor heating, and food on the table every night. And especially… no more making toys for ungrateful little brats!”
        “I hear you, brother!”
        And so, Santa’s sleigh went off that night, with the most presents it had carried in a long time. It was also the first time the sleigh had carried back more on the returning trip than the deliveries. Let’s just say… the population of detention goers and those who frequented the time out corners was at an all time low. You put the pieces together, children.
        Santa sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good, so be good if you value your life, or don’t want to end up on his sleigh, Hey! Merry Early Christmas and never forget the importance of hyper marketing for the benefit of a few!
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