I like to walk the park near my home at night, even in wintery weather. Some consider it a dangerous undertaking, I know, and there have been a few tragic incidents over the past several months, but I was born in this city and I take my chances because I am old enough to accept the risks associated with my nightly constitutional. That, and I refuse to live in fear.
Along the path I walk there is a stone bridge and each night I pass over it I see the same elderly woman squatting at the mouth of the underpass below with two wicker baskets sitting on either side of her.
Being city-bred, I generally tend to my own affairs and leave other people to their business, but this evening curiosity is my master, so instead of walking across the bridge, I take the path leading to the underpass.
As I get closer to the woman, I spot shapes moving in the shadow of the overpass. Too large to be rodentia or stray cats or dogs, these figures move about on their hindquarters but are too small to be dwarves. The first insane thought that comes to mind is leprechauns…but a niggling bit of ancient knowledge that must be buried deep within human mitochondria corrects me and states that they are…elves.
The baskets beside the woman are open and one is filled with fruits and finger sandwiches and the other with wet wipes and first aid materials. Three elves meander around the food basket nibbling on apple and orange slices, while the woman gingerly wipes the dirt and dried blood away from a wound on a fourth elf’s knee with an alcohol swab.
I clear my throat as to make my presence known and say, “Hello. I see you here at this same spot every evening. I hope you’ll pardon my nosiness, but I’m curious to know what you’re doing with these elves.” I cannot believe that I am openly discussing the existence of elves as if it is commonplace.
“I’m tending to them,” the woman smiles. “Sure, they can fend for themselves, but they happen to be Christmas elves which means they live a life of service to others…”
“I do not catch your meaning.”
“These little ones spend the better part of their days making useful items for the creatures that live in this park. They help them build functional homes and escape traps and things of that nature. They’re so busy doing these helpful deeds that they rarely have time to care for themselves, so I feed them and clean them and patch them up as best I can.”
“Awfully charitable of you.”
“A life of service,” she shrugs.
“But how did they come to be here?” I ask.
“Quite by accident. You see, on Christmas Eve when the mad rush is on to deliver presents to all the deserving people of the world, Mister Claus packs his magic sleigh with elves as well as presents and they aid in the delivery process, but sometimes an elf will accidentally fall from the sleigh in mid-flight or get left behind. When that happens, they are instructed to go to the nearest forest, which in the city is a park, and wait patiently until they can be collected. And while they wait, they help whom they can because it’s in their nature.”
“But would it not be better to move them to a place where they can be of service to people? I am sure there are plenty of underprivileged families who could benefit from having a helpful elf around, would you not agree?”
“Yes, I’m sure there are,” she replies. “But elves live in service of all living things. To them, there is no difference between humans and rodents and birds and fish and insects. They serve whom they serve. Who am I, or you for that matter, to direct the course of their service?”
I scratch my head. “I understand that but what about the difference they can make in society?”
The woman giggles aloud and looks down at the elf in her lap as she applies a bandage to its knee, and says, “Who says their actions aren’t making a difference in the world?”
I want to argue the point, I want mankind to benefit from these tiny miracle workers, but then the wiser part of me, the part that often remains hidden, points out that I am being selfish and specist, and thinking myself to be smarter and nobler than whoever or whatever is in charge of the natural order of things.
I regroup myself and exhale slowly as I kneel beside the elderly woman and ask, “How may I be of service?”
MADD FICTIONAL 
A lovely little story. It will be one of my favorites.
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It warms my Grinchy heart to know that.
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“How may I be of service?” This sort of epitomizes the Christmas spirit. I hope someday it will epitomize the human spirit to a much greater degree as well. When those Salvation Army folks pack up their bells and buckets after the holidays end, people don’t stop suffering–we’re just not reminded of it as much. I’m glad the narrator in this story bit his tongue at end and simply bent his knee instead and asked “How my I be of service?” Wondrous words. And another excellent tale, good sir! You seem to have an inexhaustible supply of hope. I’m so glad you’re liberally applying it to your stories. 🙂
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Sometimes we get in our own way when all that needs doing is setting aside ego and simply lending a helping hand. Cheers for the compliment, Mike.
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What a delightful story. I’m always a big fan of your style of writing, the various themes you choose and how perfectly you knit the story. This one was so endearing. The last line is just perfect! That is what Christmas is all about- being charitable, spreading love and happiness.
Mr Claus should get you a special present for this story! 😉
I love the concept of ‘’12 plays of Christmas’’ and that poster looks fantabulus. It’s got a beautiful caption too 😻
Job amazingly done! 👏👏👏👏👏
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Having talented people such as yourself read and comment on my scribblings is present enough for me. Cheers for the compliments.
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Okay . . . I love the ending and I’m glad it came to that point. I thought surely, he’d continue arguing or trying to get his point across. Another great one here!
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Thank you, trE, much appreciated.
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You’re quite welcome! It’s my pleasure.
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A simple story beautifully written from heart. Your work is a joy to read, especially these Christmas tales because you have a knack of making kindness seem so natural. It really is a joy to read. I’m not sure what you do for a living but writing should always be a part of it.
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That is extremely kind of you, Suranne.
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I’m digging these Christmas plays but do you know what I find most intriguing? You’ve mentioned a number of times that you aren’t a religious man but the founding principles and ideologies often run throughout your work. You may not like the trappings of any particular denomination but I’d argue that a spark of divinity resides inside of you.
Anyway, this is masterfully done and I’m a big fan of your turn of phrase. I honestly can’t wait to read more!
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I cannot speak to possessing divinity, but I thank you for the compliment.
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“Do your little bit of good where you are; its those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” Desmond Tutu
Well done!
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Wise words from a wise man.
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Such an interesting and entirely unique voice you have. This is a fascinating and inspiring read!
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Much appreciated, Peri.
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Offering triage to Santa’s abandoned helpers. What will you think of next?
This story is dangerous because now I’m going to be wandering my local park at night searching for elves to patch up!
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I’m not going to advise you against it, Cuca, but do be careful, please.
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A really sweet and lovely ending, Rhyan! To be of service should never have a specific meaning. It should be open to interpretation and it’s end result must bring joy, peace, and a hopeful outlook to life. I like how you’ve woven this warm tale. It definitely reflects the festive spirit. 🙂
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Imagine a world where we all found our own unique ways of being in service. Cheers for the compliment.
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Well done. And quite unique.
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Thank you.
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So where did you find this hitherto unknown Dickens?
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Me and Chuck go way back. I even helped him with a chapter or two when he was feeling poorly (but keep that under your hat. Appearance must be kept, and all that)
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I understand that. I had a similar problem with “Wuthering Heights”.
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So sweet and kind, I love the ending! 🙂
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Thank you, that’s very kind.
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Nice narrative
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Thank you.
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