(100 word flash fiction)
Santa has to walk. The Taliban have killed the reindeer. The elves have managed to escape. But, funding for the arms industry has made them redundant.
Mercifully, the kids nowadays only ask for iPhones.
He approaches the secluded house half covered in snow. In the dawn almost-light, he sees the boy outside the door only when he is up close.
“Merry Christmas, young man!”
He reaches into his bag, retrieves a slim case and holds it out to him.
The boy does not move. A sneer distorts his face.
“This is for babies. What I want is a real gun.”
Story for Friday Fictioneers, the flash-fiction group led by the lovely Rochelle. For the photo-prompt –