santaskinheadfoundandsenttoyouRSN

The Season of Giving: A skinhead Christmas Story

Snow covered the city, accomplishing what no one else, not the police, the sanitation department, the local government or even the citizens ever could. It cleaned it up. The pushers, users, whores and pimps all stayed inside. The blanket of snow covered the city and hadn't had the time yet to be turned into the gray slurry of the streets. For once, the city was clean, white, and quiet. It was Christmas Eve and almost perfect.
A lone figure walked through the streets. He had a job to do, but that could wait until later. He looked up and saw what he was looking for: a sign with a hammer on it advertising The Sidebar Tavern. This was where he had decided he would rest the hours before his job. Ducking into the little door on the side of the building, he was already stamping the snow off of his boots. The people in the bar looked up at the sound, their eyes widening slightly at the unusual appearance of the stranger then turned back to their conversation. The man sank down into a chair, listening.
"Christmas Eve, and it's getting worse. Hatred all around us, bums taking to the street instead of working, race crimes. The world going down the shitter.” declared one patron, a skinhead named Tim, to an audience of agreement.
"The worst thing is that we can't do anything about it, though. It's best to just win our little battles for right and hope that someday, we help the war be won. I just wish there was a way to make other people see what's right", replied a little skinchick named Marie, head shaved all around, with a shoulder-length fringe remaining and Doc Marten boots on.
The stranger considered this for a moment, made up his mind and took a closer look at the crowd before speaking.
Though all the people in the bar didn't look exactly the same, there was a feeling of uniformity about them. For one, all of the men had shaved heads, Doc Marten boots, and many had suspenders on. They all had the vibe of quiet, confident strength. The women all resembled the skinchick.
The stranger smiled slightly, thought "My People." and broke his silence.
In a booming voice that the whole room felt, he replied, "What if there is a way to have people see what's right?"
The audience gaped at him.
They saw a barrel-chested man with a little bit of a beer gut sitting there. Though only looking to be around his mid-20s, he had the feel of wisdom around him. Shaved head to toe, he was dressed in red, in the old-school skinhead style: dark red bomber jacket with a patch of a wrapped present on the shoulder with white fur covering the ends of his sleeves, a red T-shirt underneath, red jeans held up by black suspenders and oxblood Doc Marten boots. He wasn't weight lifter built, but gave the impression that he could go down to the docks and handle a longshoreman's' job with ease.
A few, the quickest thinkers, started laughing at him.
One said, "What do you mean, we're doing all we can. And who're you supposed to be, Santa Claus?"
At this, the stranger laughed heartily and the audience couldn't help but notice that his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly.
"Well, as for what I mean, I mean I can give you a way not normally available to you to have people see what's right, and as far as the rest…" and with that, he just winked and laughed again.
The crowd looked around at each other, wide-eyed, and turned back to their conversation as the stranger leaned back in his chair.
Everyone except Tim and Marie.
"You think that you're really him?" Tim said, warily.
The crowd laughed.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. You can call me Nick. If you come with me, I can help you."
"This fool's crazy, we'd better get him back to the mental home."
The stranger sighed. He should have expected this.
"Wait a minute." Marie said. "What do we have to lose if we do with him? He's not going to be able to do anything with all of us there, and I'm curious about what he's going to do."
"If you come with me, I can promise you won't be disappointed."
"He does look like one of us; maybe we should see what he's up to? If only because we don't want yet another bonehead doing more harm to our reputation, like the nazi-skins.” Marie continued.
This won Tim over. Beside, he sensed the same thing Marie did. There was something about him that was larger than life. "Ok, we'll go. But we're watching you. Just tell us what you want us to do?"
The stranger stood up and headed towards the door, the Sidebar crew following behind.
"Just follow my lead."
As the group walked down the street, the pimps were back out.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!” one shouted to drum up business.
"Copycat", Nick muttered.
The sidebar crew had been walking along arrogantly, confident they could handle one lone man, but as he turned down a dark alley, they grew more wary.
Nick turned around and faced them.
Tim addressed them; "Keep your eyes open for an ambush."
Without a word, they followed Tim down the alley to where Nick stood, keeping their senses aware, their eyes peeled, and their bodies ready.
"Now, I can prove I am who I say I am."
With that, he waved his hand and lights started to flash on and off, like hundreds of lightning bugs, all flashing in unison.
They expanded until nothing could be seen and light surrounded them, then disappeared, only for the skins to realize they weren't in the alley anymore.
Looking around them, their first observation was of space. The room around them was huge. From the walls they saw, it looked like the building was made of logs. In the center of the room was a huge open fireplace, lighting and warming the whole room. The room was filled with a spicy, pleasant scent. There was a big screen TV on one side of the room and a large globe on the other side. Also scattered around the room were several pieces of living room furniture. On the edge of hearing were rhythmic sounds: hammers tapping, saws buzzing and other sounds of tools at work. It was a place that typified coziness and warmth.
One of the skins turned to Nick.
"So you are who you say you are?"
Nick nodded, "Of course. But enough small talk. Time is short, I brought you here to help you."
"Why us?"
"Look at me. I'm one of you. Who else would work so hard for something they believe in to be able to bring presents to the whole world in one night, other than a skinhead?"
"So, how can you help us?"
"Well, let me answer that question with a question: What does Christmas mean anymore? For some devout Christians out there, it's still all about the birth of Christ. But over the past couple of decades, a new meaning has arisen. I am part of that meaning. It's not about giving and receiving. For most of the world, Christmas' meaning is now truly a celebration of "The Season of Giving." and that's where my legend comes in. So, listening to your conversation down there, I've decided, in the spirit of the Season of Giving, I'm going to give you a special Christmas present. The problems you spoke about could be solved by giving people the chance to see from another's perspective."
At this, one of the Sidebar crew broke in.
"How is that going to help? They're just going to go back to normal afterwards."
"We'll see about that. Doing this can only help. So, my special Christmas present to you is for each of the problems you see in the world today, I will let the two sides in the issue see each other's perspective for one hour. In the Season of Giving, I'll give every person on Earth the opportunity to give a little compassion. So what's the first issue going to be?"
With a quick look around, Tim saw that he, as the group's unofficial leader, was going to be the group's spokesman.
"Well, what about working men striking, and scabs that go to work anyway."
With that, Nick walked over to his big screen TV. He turned it on and fiddled with the picture. A picket line appeared on the screen, lead by a tall, well-built red headed man. As they watched a bunch of small pictures kept on popping up inside the big picture and then disappearing. After some confusion, they realized that the smaller pictures were the thoughts of the lead striker. His thoughts summed up that he was outraged at the way the bosses were treating the workers.
The scene shifted and now, the screen showed a hooded man, watching the picket line. His thoughts were of how much he needed money to keep food in his and his families mouth, and a roof over his families’ head.
"These scenes you're seeing are actually happening right now, around the world, but they're just one of many identical scenes happening to everyone in the same situation. I'm just showing you one of many to let you see what happens. And I'm not showing the whole hour, just enough for you to get the idea of what happens."
As he spoke, on the screen, the scab had already walked through the crowd of strikers unobtrusively trying to make his way towards the building. As he got to the front, they saw his legs tense to run. He ran towards the building, and the crowd started chasing him, the leader in the front. Then, everything on the screen went into slow motion.
They looked over at Nick and saw that his eyes were closed in concentration, with sweat pouring down his face. "Let it begin.” he boomed. As they watched him, lights flashed around him, similar to before, but this time, they looked less like fireflies and more like dust motes floating through the air, hit by sunlight.
Collectively, they turned back to the screen to see both the scab and the leader of the strikers stiffen in shock and then collapse. The crowd caught up with the scab and a host of angry faces surrounded his prone body on the ground. Turning their attention to the thought screens, the skins realized that the changeover had happened. The leader was now in the scab's mind, and vice versa.
The feeling of seeing his family go hungry, and the many bill collection notices on his house hit the strike leader's mind like cold water. And the scab felt the indignation over how badly the bosses were treating the workers like an electric shock. The last two thought screens showed the strike leader thinking "I have my ideals, but I'm not sure if it's worth his family going hungry.” and the scab thinking "Things are never going to get better if we don't grin and bear it. The changes he's trying to effect will be worth the temporary hungriness in the long run." The screen faded to black.
Opening his eyes, Nick spoke. "What next?"
Tim spoke rapidly, the scene still having its effect on his mind. "Race crimes."
Nick wiped the sweat from his forehead, snapped his fingers and another picture came on the screen. This one was of an interracial couple. As they walked hand in hand, their thought screens showed how much their love was for each other, and how much pride they got out of doing the nonconventional. Then, the scene shifted. Nearby, hidden from view, waited a crew of neo-nazi skins. They felt what abomination the mixing of something superior was, with something inferior. As the Sidebar crew watched, they saw the neo-nazis step out and grab the woman, with their leader leading the rest towards the man. Suddenly, the two men stiffened as before, and the skins leaped forward and started savagely beating the black man. The changeover had happened, and the neo-nazi leader called the skins off of the man. He thought, "I understand him. Never thought I would, but I understand him. In his eyes, I am inferior to him, and as such, should not be dating above my station. I don't agree, but at least, I understand." Meanwhile, the black man was picking himself up off the ground and thinking "I didn't realize how powerful love is. I still don't think it's right, but I don't think it's as wrong as it once was." The screen faded to black.
The Sidebar crew turned their attentions to Nick. He was obviously tired, but he was halfway through the hour. He noticed them watching them and pulled himself together. " Next?"
Tim replied "Race relations in the workplace."
The screen lighted up again. This time, it showed a white worker watching a black worker in a factory. As they watched, their boss came up and, from the thought screens; they realized the white man was being promoted, because of the boss's racism. The black worker's thought screens showed that he thought he didn't need to work as hard as he could because the government owed him for years of abuse, and the white's thought screens showed that he thought that he deserved the promotion the most because the black didn't work as hard as he could. Then, the changeover happened, as before, with both men stiffening. Their last thoughts before the screen faded to black were "I am not owed nothing, what's in the past is in the past, I need to work harder for what I want." and "The man has worked hard, he does deserve more of a chance of his promotion."
Again, they looked over at Nick. "One more.” he gasped.
"Beggar and working man."
The screen sprouted another picture. This one was of a homeless man begging on a street corner. His thoughts showed nothing but pain, and weakness, that he was not strong enough to go find work, and shame that he had to resort to his, along with the knowledge that he DID have to resort to this. They saw a man dressed as a construction worker pass the man and jeer at him when asked for change. In his mind were pride at working hard for his living, derision at the begging of the bum, and knowledge that the bum was just going to buy liquor with the money he got anyway. The last changeover occurred, and they avidly watched the thought screens for they knew it was going to be the last. The bum, in the mind of the construction worker, thought "Such pride, to do the work he does, I need to find that pride in myself that I lost somewhere along the way, there were just too many setbacks." While the construction worker, on the other hand, thought "My God. It makes me wonder, if I had that many setbacks, could I still be where I am today?" The screen faded to black.
Nick collapsed onto his chair.
"That's all I can do. If they don't reform after that, there's nothing else I can do.
Tim walked up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks. If even one/tenth of the people you've changed over changes his mind, the world will be a better place."
Nick nodded. "True. I have to send you back now, work to do."
With that, the lightning bug effect came back, and when it faded, the skins found they were back in The Sidebar, without Nick. They turned and watched the news about the out of body experiences happening all over the world and wondered if the changes would turn out to be permanent.
The streets were back to normal. The snow had melted, turning gray and dirty looking in the streets. Nick wondered too whether or not his gift would have any lasting effect. He shrugged. He had done all he could, who could ask of him than that? Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 10 pm. He sighed and summoned his sleigh. He had a job to do.
By: OiWonder

 

so you like it ?

 

thanx, I got it from a mate. And was thinking of expanding on it to a short story. What do yah all think?
cheers.

 

It didn't take long since I got it from a mate. I will be expanding it. And I already did some editing. I have a artist friend that would be perfict to turn this in to a childrens book.