Father Christmas Is a Liar

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Father Christmas Is a Liar

My name is Ryan, and because of you, my life has gone to shit.

Ho ho ho, whoa now. That kind of language is unnecessary.

Unnecessary? Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You had an affair with my mother. Yeah, that’s right, wipe that surprised look off your face. I know the truth now. After all these years, it finally makes sense.

This must be some kind of mistake, Ryan. My wife is Mrs. Claus, and I’m a faithful husband. I would nev...

Shut it. You’re lying. You know how I know? For the longest time, I didn’t understand how I could feel when people lied to me. Thought it was fear. Thought it was anxiety. Turns out it’s a special ability of sorts. I’m sure you recognize the sensation. The bigger the lie, the worse it feels, like pressure building behind my eyes.

That gift…it came from me.

Gift? You curse me with lie-detection migraines and call it a stocking stuffer? Real generous, Dad of the Year.

I-I don’t know what to say. It was a mistake. I never meant for any of this to happen. I thought it would protect you.

It protected me from nothing. All it taught me was that everyone’s full of crap…including you. Don’t choke on your beard, old man.

I never intended to abandon you.

Bullshit wrapped in tinsel. You didn’t intend to abandon me, you just magically fucked off for twenty-eight years?

I was afraid.

Afraid? You’re a centuries-old magical sugar daddy with flying reindeer and reality-bending logistics, but fatherhood scared you? That’s rich.

Your mother and I agreed it would be safer if...

Don’t hide behind her. She raised me while you played immortal mall mascot. I grew up thinking my dad was Bill Copeland, until a blood test blew that fantasy to hell and we got thrown out of his house. Then I figured my real father was just some faceless asshole. Turns out he’s a literal myth with a beer belly and commitment issues.

I watched over you.

Oh, did you now? From where, your crystal ball? “Ho ho ho, Ryan’s miserable again. Better check the weather in Lapland.”

You don’t understand the rules I’m bound by.

Funny, because I understand lies just fine, and that one smells like reindeer shit.

I regret it every day.

Congrats. Want a cookie? Maybe a fucking medal? Your regret didn’t keep the lights on or explain why lies felt like needles in my skull.

I’m trying to make this right.

You can’t duct-tape a lifetime of neglect with a heartfelt speech and a sack of apologies.

Tell me what you want.

I wanted a father who showed up. Now? I want the truth. No magic smoke. No ho-ho horseshit.

…I loved your mother. I loved you. I was a coward.

Finally. Took you long enough.

Word Count: 475
Prompt: A conversation with Santa.
Written for: "The Dialogue 500"

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