PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I heard him in the upstairs bedroom. With a thick, boisterous laugh and slight rumble to the ceiling panels, I could hear him. Then she laughed as well, a high-pitched giggle of insanity. I was quiet however, as I sat in the illuminated living room of twinkling lights. Russian soldiers, who usually kept their mouths shut, were now agape with the atrocities that had transpired. The barnyard animals, despite not having feet, looked away with shame. In part, I was very ashamed myself that my sister was the only 18 year old who still believed in Santa. I shut my eyes and clenched my fists as the laughing continued. I tried to tell myself they were just having a somersault contest. But I had just learned one thing no child should learn. Santa gets gifts too.



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