More in this series: Prologue, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch.22, Ch. 23
A group of elves rode on reindeer. Their anger clearing their fear After being fired unexpectedly. A mass layoff in their industry. Four elves led four large bucks Racking the main goblin tunnels. No trolls came to stop the passages being pummeled Because four more riders kept them sidetracked and stuck Bashing through barricades and barracks without much trouble. But as the eight Made their swift escape A single troll arrow found its mark. The deer bucked, moaned, and fell in the dark. The elf rider was Moh Who lay crushed in the snow. Moh’s dingy hat turned red As blood poured from Moh’s head.
Moh had a kind heart. He always did his part To help those around. His laugh was a joyous sound The likes of which one didn’t hear much Because of all the hardship and such . . . Moh was well loved. Now a hat soaked with blood Because of . . . Because of . . . What? The trolls? Yes. The goblins . . . Yet, What was it for? To settle a score? To inconvenience the goblins? To cause the trolls problems? Or was there something more? Elves donned red hats, Took moments of rest Though their bodies met with bats. Moh should not have died. The eight became a symbol of pride. The elves were no longer pacified. There were only eight that night, But it was every elf’s ride. It was all elves’ lives. Still, most were terrified. Some, though, were petrified. Yet, the red dingy became a symbol, One that was subtle and simple. I don’t know if it was organized and official. Nevertheless, elves recognized the little Memorial to Moh as a visual That grew to become an unspoken ritual. But one man’s grief Amplified the red hat (That stocking cap The elves called a dingy) Making the rebellious red Something the goblins came to dread.
Nicholas the North Pole Carrier delivered parcels and letters. He carried all kinds of goods on his sleigh no matter the weather, No matter the hour, no matter the load he delivered whatsoever. But that wasn’t by choice. He simply had no voice When it came to deciding his schedule or safety. And it wore him down in every way lately. Through the dark and intense cold, Through the deepest tunnels far below, The North Pole Postal Service controlled his time. The NPPS controlled, it seemed, his whole life. Nicholas rarely saw his family. Always out on delivery Till every last letter and parcel was gone. The next day, the same. Every day again, and again. One day off per week, A few hours in the evenings. So little time for rest. Always on his feet. Never a chance to recover. Hardly an opportunity to eat. Nicholas was tired. Nicholas felt mentally expired. Nicholas didn’t want to get fired. No other jobs seemed better, At least the ones he could get; Low pay, bad hours, poor benefits. Lots of jobs where one can hardly live. To this job he felt trapped, tied, tethered. Nicholas and one reindeer with a sleigh. That’s how he made his meager pay.
He’d lost everything he knew
When he sold his herd of caribou
To take part in the goblin system
Unable to trade enough to get by with them.
He had no choice but to abandon his love and endenture himself.
He lost his deer, his heart, his livelihood just like all the poor elves.
Nothing left, he joined the Post
Delivering to all,
but really for the sake of the ruling goblin host.
He hated his life.
Was it even life?
Body, a piece of equipment, a machine.
Mind only useful for one thing,
Getting to the next delivery.
One day off Nicholas heard a speech
About the goblins and how they leech
Wealth from the masses
And laboring classes.
The speaker said,
“We endlessly produce
While they continually abuse.
“We’re left to depend on them for wages.
Maligned when asking for changes.
“But without us they have nothing.
Without us they are nothing!
“So we will stop and rest,
Make no move at their behest.
“To show that we are everything.
All they want and need.”
And those words Nicholas spread.
He told all the carriers on his shift
Making sure the managers didn’t get a whiff.
Those trolls would make them pay
In all manner of ways.
Spurred by the hope of the many
Nicholas was undeterred by trolls so petty.
He shared the news of rest and worth
With elves and carriers of all birth
Until, at last, he came to a test.
He sent a letter to the Postmaster Master
Who then came for Nicholas with intent to arrest
As the carriers brought delivery to a halting disaster,
That is, to the pockets of the Postmaster Master.
The carriers surrounded Nicholas in defense.
The little goblin was totally incensed.
Two days with no deliveries, neither packages nor spam.
Nothing in the sleighs or sleds means no money in goblin hands.
Postmaster Master sent in the wolves
Unfed by the useless troll fools.
They scattered the elves who quickly fled.
But not all made it out.
In the end eight carriers lay mangled and dead.
Nicholas mourned the loss of his friends.
He took their blood stained clothes
And made a red crusty suit out of them
Which he wore so all would know
The merciless greed of the hoarding goblins.