Leaping Lords

Johnny Trinket was evil, and he died on Christmas. Thus, he was automatically granted a season pass to “Winter Wonderland”, a twisted them park standing in the bowels of hell. 

Christmas was officially in three days, and Winter Wonderland was packed.

 He ducked under the archway made of sharp candy canes and meandered on the path of dismembered gingerbread men.

 Johnny passed a pack of carolers croaking “Deck the Halls”, their slit throats streaming crimson through every “Fa-La-La-La-La.”

 He wove his way through a gaggle of twirling ballerinas, their crooked heads ornamented by the broken nooses swinging from their necks.

 The whistle stopped him in his tracks. Johnny became mesmerized by the line of toy soliders, marching in perfect sync, rifles hung on their shoulders.  

 He waited for the tail end of the line, then proceeded to follow them to the destination they were determined to reach.

 Johnny followed the soldiers to a group of men.

 Lords. Ten of them.

 Johnny watched with child-like anticipation as the toy soldiers turned about face and aimed their rifles at the lords.

 At the feet of the lords.


 The toy soldiers fired at the feet of the lords, making them leap high into the air.

 Johnny clapped like a monkey with cymbals.


 Blood sprinkled along the ground, as more and more bullets found their way into the lords’ feet.


 The lords kept a-leaping.  

 The toy soldiers kept a-shooting.

Until each lord was left with only one operable foot.

 Johnny recalled his life above ground. And all of the tap dances he used to do for the press junkets, for the rallies, for the debates. Taking bullets until he would have just one foot to stand.


 Ten lords a-leaping.

 Ten lords a-limping.





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