A Christmas Story in 8 Parts: Part 8
Jan. 1st, 2005 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
franceslievensPrevious parts
Thousands of Christmen had gathered in and around the theatre to listen to their leader. They were carrying big kitchen knives like it were swords and shields made of metal cookie jars. The leader was dressed alike: He had changed his red cap for a red helmet and the sword in his right hand was Tolkien worthy. His voice was booming. The crowd was literally buzzing with anticipation.
“Christmen, take up your swords, walk from door to door and kill them all!! The blood of men will colour the streets tonight!!”
A roaring rose up from the masses. The Christmen waved their makeshift swords in some random direction when they started filing out the theatre. Some of them fell down, headless.
Tobias held an axe he had found in the janitor's room in his apartment building. He had swung it around a couple of times, nearly hacking through Simone's knees. Luckily the gymnast had jumped away just in time. She was holding a hockey stick high above her head like a baseball bat. “Give me that hockey stick,” Angela said, “you're holding it like you wanna hit someone.”
“That's the whole point of us standing here, isn't it?” Simone replied.
Angela sighed and took her friend's hockey stick, pushing her own baseball bat in the girl's hands instead.
Bear was in full American football outfit. “You sure, you don't need a weapon?” Eric asked him. The massive teenager groaned in reply. “I can stay behind you then? Good,” Eric said, looking down at his own humble weapon – a fake light sabre.
Noises from inside the theatre reached the group of teenagers that was standing outside. Hundreds of Christmen started pouring out, but suddenly they stopped dead in their tracks when they were met by something they hadn't accounted for: an army that was there to stop them.
The Christmen stared at the troop in front of them in bewilderment. The leader had never said they would be up against this: kids wearing pans on their heads, clutching wooden swords, kitchen knives, hammers; teenagers wearing fencing and football gear, helmets… But the persuading voice of their master quickly got them out of their apathy: “You can overrun them! CHARGE!!”
Tobias brought his left hand up. “Wait,” he said, “they're not close enough.”
Every muscle in the children's bodies tensed when they saw the Christmen approach. Engines of motorcycles started revving.
“Wait!” Tobias called. The Christmen kept coming closer.
“NOW,” the boy roared and a little army of minors charged forwards. Boots and fists and knives and sticks came raining down on the little men. They fell like battered puppets, leaving only filling and red hats. Others deflated at the smallest puncture of a knife. But there were too many of them. Six kids had already been carried off the battleground with broken bones. Christmen kept pouring from the double doors and it wouldn't be long before they'd take another exit and start charging at the kids from behind.
“Hack at the heads!” Angela yelled.
“Look out for their teeth!” another scream came.
Motorcycles circled the battle, beheading Christmen, dropping off little packages here and there. Suddenly they drove off, as fast as they could.
Tobias watched them go. “It's been done. PULL BACK!! We've got to pull back NOW!”
Children ran for their lives, jumped on their bicycles and pedalled away. Tobias found his skateboard and raced off, not looking back before he heard the first charges go off and he knew he was as far away as he had to be.
“Who knew blowing up a couple of silly Santas that came alive could be so beautiful?” Simone's question wasn't supposed to be answered. She was sitting on the grass patch, right next to him. Angela had snuggled up close to Eric, like she usually did. They were all enjoying the fireworks. They had been going on for half an hour now and had gathered quite a crowd. Most of the kids that had participated in the battle were still with them as well. It was a nice night altogether. Tobias sighed. It was a sigh of relief. They were still alive. Gently he laid his arm around Simone's shoulders, while one last Christman flew shrieking towards heaven, towards a certain death.
Thousands of Christmen had gathered in and around the theatre to listen to their leader. They were carrying big kitchen knives like it were swords and shields made of metal cookie jars. The leader was dressed alike: He had changed his red cap for a red helmet and the sword in his right hand was Tolkien worthy. His voice was booming. The crowd was literally buzzing with anticipation.
“Christmen, take up your swords, walk from door to door and kill them all!! The blood of men will colour the streets tonight!!”
A roaring rose up from the masses. The Christmen waved their makeshift swords in some random direction when they started filing out the theatre. Some of them fell down, headless.
Tobias held an axe he had found in the janitor's room in his apartment building. He had swung it around a couple of times, nearly hacking through Simone's knees. Luckily the gymnast had jumped away just in time. She was holding a hockey stick high above her head like a baseball bat. “Give me that hockey stick,” Angela said, “you're holding it like you wanna hit someone.”
“That's the whole point of us standing here, isn't it?” Simone replied.
Angela sighed and took her friend's hockey stick, pushing her own baseball bat in the girl's hands instead.
Bear was in full American football outfit. “You sure, you don't need a weapon?” Eric asked him. The massive teenager groaned in reply. “I can stay behind you then? Good,” Eric said, looking down at his own humble weapon – a fake light sabre.
Noises from inside the theatre reached the group of teenagers that was standing outside. Hundreds of Christmen started pouring out, but suddenly they stopped dead in their tracks when they were met by something they hadn't accounted for: an army that was there to stop them.
The Christmen stared at the troop in front of them in bewilderment. The leader had never said they would be up against this: kids wearing pans on their heads, clutching wooden swords, kitchen knives, hammers; teenagers wearing fencing and football gear, helmets… But the persuading voice of their master quickly got them out of their apathy: “You can overrun them! CHARGE!!”
Tobias brought his left hand up. “Wait,” he said, “they're not close enough.”
Every muscle in the children's bodies tensed when they saw the Christmen approach. Engines of motorcycles started revving.
“Wait!” Tobias called. The Christmen kept coming closer.
“NOW,” the boy roared and a little army of minors charged forwards. Boots and fists and knives and sticks came raining down on the little men. They fell like battered puppets, leaving only filling and red hats. Others deflated at the smallest puncture of a knife. But there were too many of them. Six kids had already been carried off the battleground with broken bones. Christmen kept pouring from the double doors and it wouldn't be long before they'd take another exit and start charging at the kids from behind.
“Hack at the heads!” Angela yelled.
“Look out for their teeth!” another scream came.
Motorcycles circled the battle, beheading Christmen, dropping off little packages here and there. Suddenly they drove off, as fast as they could.
Tobias watched them go. “It's been done. PULL BACK!! We've got to pull back NOW!”
Children ran for their lives, jumped on their bicycles and pedalled away. Tobias found his skateboard and raced off, not looking back before he heard the first charges go off and he knew he was as far away as he had to be.
“Who knew blowing up a couple of silly Santas that came alive could be so beautiful?” Simone's question wasn't supposed to be answered. She was sitting on the grass patch, right next to him. Angela had snuggled up close to Eric, like she usually did. They were all enjoying the fireworks. They had been going on for half an hour now and had gathered quite a crowd. Most of the kids that had participated in the battle were still with them as well. It was a nice night altogether. Tobias sighed. It was a sigh of relief. They were still alive. Gently he laid his arm around Simone's shoulders, while one last Christman flew shrieking towards heaven, towards a certain death.
