With a sad expression on your face, you watch as the room of holidays argue before you. Santa, to most a jolly fellow, shakes his fist in frustration at Thanksgiving, represented by an unhappy turkey. A scowl spreads across his face and he glares down at the bird with malice in his eyes.
"Lord of Holidays, you must resolve this injustice!" Santa calls to you, sitting on your decorated throne, which rests in a place in-between reality, a neutral ground for all holiday disputes taking the form of a court room, which floats gently on a sea of pitch-black dreams.
You look over at the fat man, still holding your tired frown, but knowing that it's time to get serious. "Okay, from the top again, please. What seems to be the problem?" You ask.
"The holidays are out of whack! Thanksgiving is too close to Christmas, Christmas comes too late, New Years isn't even a real holiday," Santa replies. You hear an insulted "Hey!" from a cartoony star in the back of the throne room like the ones you'd see on a Happy New Years card, except frowning and clearly upset.
"What do you mean by 'real holiday?'" You ask, curious about what he means.
"I've been working hard since October to get ready for Christmas, and then everyone quickly forgets about Christmas when New Years rolls around? That's not fair!" The old man declares, waving his finger in the air as if he were talking to children.
The representation of Valentines, who had been silent up until now, steps forward, her arms crossed next to Santa. "Don't forget about my problem, my lord! Isn't my problem far worse? The new age of kids don't have any respect for Valentines. When was the last time they gave someone a Valentine's Day card?" She asks.
You scratch the back of your head, a new wave of exhaustion washing over you as you look down at the small fiery woman with red hair and a blue dress adorned with hearts. "Well, they still do it in school systems, and-"
"You and I both know shitty school systems just force kids to hand candy around, it's a bastardization of what the holiday is for!" she snaps, only to be pushed back by Santa.
"Wait your turn, woman! You're getting ahead of yourself again!" He yells, glaring at her before turning back to you. "We have too many Holidays! There, I said it! You need to get rid of some of them."
You sigh and shake your head, putting your hands on the armrests of your throne. "I'm sorry, but that's not how this works. If we start removing holidays from the calendar, there will be chaos. Besides, haven't you all worked together in the past? I think you're related to the Easter Bunny, and I haven't seen you two talk in... years?" You ask, looking over at the bunny and Santa Claus.
The Easter Bunny speaks up, an oversized bowtie around his neck. "Y'know, I've been meaning to speak with him about this for a while now," he says, pointing at Santa. "We used to work together quite often, but now he thinks of me as a gimmick."
"He is." The old man grumbles under his breath, looking away from the rabbit.
The bunny shouts, making Santa jump in surprise. "You wanna go, you fat bastard?!"
"Please, let's not-" You begin to say, only to be interrupted by a red-faced Santa.
"Oh shut up, stupid rabbit! How about I do something about you right here, right now?" He demands, stepping forward and waving his hands around like a madman.
"Ooh, scary!" The bunny replies, sticking out his tongue. "I'd love to see what you can do when you're angry."
"Guys-" You speak louder, but the argument between the two overpowers your voice. Other holidays watch on, some encouraging their own arguments with raised fists or cheering them on. What was originally draining, has quickly become frustrating. Nobody is listening, your court room has turned into a circus.
Santa suddenly pulls his red suit off, revealing a white sleeveless undershirt beneath it. "Let's go, right now!" He yells, taking a step towards the bunny.
The bunny counters, pulling up his hands in a silly fighting pose. "You want to fight me? Fine, I'll give you a chance!"
"ENOUGH!" You shout, standing up from your throne and slamming the bottom of your staff into the ground. "I will not stand for this! I am the Lord of Holidays, and if you cannot settle your differences peacefully then you are all banished from my presence!"
All of the arguing stops immediately, the two look at each other, before slowly turning to face you.
With eyes on yourself, you are empowered to continue speaking. "Look at yourselves! You're acting like children! This is supposed to be a serious discussion about how we can resolve our problems, but instead I'm getting treated to a bunch of childish arguments and insults!" You sigh and shake your head again. "These following days, there are going to be some serious discussions about how we can make things better. If that means removing certain holidays or adding new ones, then so be it."
"Thank you, Lord of Holidays," Santa says with a nod. The bunny nods as well, though he still looks slightly upset.
"I wouldn't be so happy, Santa. You've been acting like an ass lately. And you too, Easter Bunny!" You say, pointing at them both. "If I find out either one of you have done anything to hurt the other, I'll personally chuck your asses into the ocean of dreams."
"Yes, Your Lordship," they both reply in unison.
"Everyone take half an hour to cool down and think about what you said. When we come back, we will discuss this further. For now, I need some time alone." Relying on your cane for support, you turn around and walk towards a door on one end of the courtroom, towards your personal chambers. Down a hallway and there it is, your monument to your failures. Your room is decorated with the holidays you once created, of better times, and it brings a feeling of self-resentment to you now.
You sit down at your desk, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from underneath it and pouring yourself a drink. You could use a little courage right now. It's not often that you get angry like this. On your desk is a small framed picture of all the earliest holidays in a group photo, and yourself, as a younger man, still draped in your green robes but with a smile you've been missing for years.
"I hope I can make things right again," you whisper to yourself, taking another sip of your drink. "I just wish there was some way to fix this."
A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts.