"The blood was only ever a means to an end," the vampire confessed in the interview.
"To what end?" the reporter asked.
"Blood carries vigor, life force, vital energy. That's what we feed on."
"So how do you get it, if not through blood?"
"These days, we make doom scrolling apps to drain it."
"My husband complains about the cold," the man said. "Can you teach me a spell to keep him warm?"
"I can teach you to bind hair into a net to catch heat," the wizard said, "using arcane counting and a pair of fine wands."
After a while, the man said "Isn't this knitting?"
"This, too, is magic."
The princess left a note behind, explaining why she ran away.
"She disagrees with what she was taught," the queen said.
"Embroidery and such?" chuckled the king. "Classic."
"It's not needle-work she objects to. She likes that. She rejects the nobility of the nobility, and our right to rule."
I paused, out of breath. The Void had taken all my frustrated screaming and absorbed it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "You must have heard all this before, countless times."
'only you,' said the Void, 'scream your frustration like you do'
I took a deep breath to resume, then smiled.
"Thanks."
"You will marry whoever you pick at the Royal Ball," the king told the princess.
"We'll hold another Ball," the king said. "Pick anyone of noble birth."
"We'll hold a third Ball," the king said. "Pick a man of noble birth."
"Wait," the queen said. "Maybe she doesn't even want to marry."
"What?"
Station security chief T'xtrt looked at the Humans going into the meeting hall next to the bar.
"One day you'll have to explain Human religion to me."
Thelma, the barkeep, shrugged. "Not sure it was wise to bring it with us."
"Anyway, I came to ask what you are. The records show you've run this bar for centuries. Humans don't live that long."
"I came with the humans."
"Yes. The records show that, too."
Thelma smiled. "Where humans can go, so can their gods."
The artificer nodded. "I can build this wheeled chair, but why? You have an enchanted hover seat."
"Yes," the wizard fumed, "but the palace have erected magic-cancelling wards."
"Why?"
"Don't know. But they didn't think of people who need mobility aids. So I need wheels to go shout at the king."
It is a popular mathematical experiment to try and work out just how fast Santa has to be to reach every house with a child in a single 24 hour period.
The calculations always end up with a significant fraction of the speed of light.
There then usually follow discussions about what the collateral damage from Santa's passing would be. And cargo limits, and so on.
All of these are wrong, and ignore another end-of-year tradition. The portrayal of the ending year as an old man.
Now that I've put these two traditions side-by-side, I think you can see what is really going on.
It is possible for one man to visit every house in a night, with no shock waves or any of that silliness. But it comes at a cost.
For that man, the night lasts many years, as he travels back in time after each visit. Even with time travel, he does not get much time to eat - so the snacks you leave out are essential to him surviving the night.
But he only just survives. By the end of the night he will have aged over forty years. And then he hands the reins of the time-travelling sleigh to a younger man, warning him of the cost.
Someone always answers the call, despite the cost, because there is always someone willing to sacrifice everything to bring joy and light, even just a little, even if only for a moment.
So leave the snacks, and, if you catch a glimpse of him, give him a bow of respect. He deserves it.
#SFF #SF #Christmas #Santa #microfiction #microfic #tootfic #IAmWriting
"What are you working on?"
I put the soldering iron on its stand and inspected my work.
"A time travel receiver. I figured out the machine can't travel in time itself."
"Do you have a transmitter too?"
I plugged the power in. "Not yet."
A newspaper appeared in the machine.
"I will, next year."
Each ivory rose glistened sweetly in the twilight, each petal as perfect as porcelain.
Little white butterflies flitted through the last strands of fading light, dancing on tender, tantalizing scents.
The Gardener packed up their gear, secretly smiling as a rival hid poorly behind the old oak, straightening the "Beware The Thorns" sign as they headed inside.
The next morning the blooms were exceptionally voluptuous, and for now, satiated.
There was a 'womp' sound from the yard. I looked out the window.
Where the large pile of leaves had been, a dragon sat.
"Oi!" I called.
"The hoard was unguarded," the dragon said. "I claim it."
Every damn year. It'll leave once the leaves lose their golden hue. Meanwhile, I can't order takeaway.
