Naughty and nice isn’t the half of it.
Examine the patterns. The color of the ribbon. The fractals hidden within drawings of jolly reindeer. Even the nature of the toys.
Everything contains a message. Or perhaps it is a message, all of it, a code so intricate that it cannot be perceived. We are ants attempting to view the globe entire.
It is hard, to know everything. Even now, the red-clothed form twitches in a trance, eyelids flickering. He will begin his work again, soon, and we are no closer to an answer. Is the message even meant for us?
A part of Advent Ghosts blog event.
Standard Irish Poem No.1
10 hours ago