The Death of Santa Clause

I was ten years of age.

Living life like a slow paced blur.

The setting was very much the same no matter the age.

everyone was having less and less time to burn.

It was christmas after all.

And everyone was finding themselves in the proverbial "gift finding cage".

Some couldn't find anything worthy of giving, starting to whine about it all.

Me? Im sitting here, reading and getting more depressed with every turn of the page.

For I have found out the truth, much as I loathe to admit it.

It started one night, as I felt the compulsion all children have.

It was december 24th after all, and I felt like taking a peek at the presents for a bit.

"Just one peek" that was all I would need to have.

I told myself over and over.

That it would quick and easy.

But once I crossed the hallway and into the foyer.

I heard sounds coming from the living room, sounds that were hushed and breezy.

I remember thinking to myself, looking back on that day.

'Those sounds are familiar' was all I could think about.

I should of stayed in bed that day.

Because tonight I was witnessing what every teenager teased us about.

Our parents putting presents under the tree, each one marked "-From Santa."