The Elf Labyrinth

You are standing in front of the toy store. It’s closed now. White, fluffy snow is falling on your hat; and white, fluffy snow is on the ground, piled up to cover your ankles. You can see your breath—it fogs the window of the store. But when the fogginess clears out, you can see inside. There is a little toy train circling around the track surrounding a beautiful Christmas tree. Surrounding the tree, there is a village of elves, with many dozens of houses and crooked little streets, forming what looks like a labyrinth. All the elves are smiling, and laughing, and playing. And on a hill atop the village, there is a jolly, chubby Santa waving at his elves. Behind him is a big bag of toys of all shapes and sizes, for boys and for girls.

You look down at your snow-covered boots. Christmas is just a sunrise away. The eve of warmth and celebration, of giving and receiving is right around the corner. But you have already turned so many corners, so many turns, that you are now standing on a corner where neither the sound of festivities nor the glee of smiling faces can hope to reach you. Darkness looms over your shoulders, peeking around the corner of your eyes. It grows, it grows, it grows…

But there seems to be one light that remains present before your eyes—it is a faint light inside one of the small elf houses. You crouch and look inside. There is a little elf family sitting at a table. The father elf is cutting a delicious turkey. The mother elf is serving a pie. And there is a little boy elf sitting with fork and knife in hand, impatiently savoring the meal that will soon be his. The little elf’s smile is big, his eyes are bright; he is perfectly cared for, without a worry in the world. Why would he be worried? Just near the table, the elf family has a Christmas tree full of presents. How could the little elf possibly know of any dangers lurking outside? How could he, when all is fair and all is bright, Christmas for the elf family is holy and right.

How hard must the elf parents have worked all year to afford so many presents? What sacrifices did they make? Yet, when you look at their faces, they have no frowns or wrinkles. Their gleeful faces suggest rather that they worked with selflessness. Their every day spent at work was done with loving conviction to provide for their beautiful child, so that when Christmas came around the corner, they could shower him with gifts and with love.

Such a beautiful family… but it is not the only one. You look around this complex labyrinth of elf houses, and inside each is a happy elf family celebrating Christmas. Happy, happy, happy. But there must be something more—there must be something hidden. All the houses look the same, all the families smile the same. This reminds you of the suburbs of your city, all aligned with hundreds of homes, all cheerful and decorated. But, still, there must be something more. In your heart, you know that somewhere in this elf village, with all its twists and turns, there must be something hidden… something that belongs to you.

You try to find the cheerful Santa smiling at the village, but now you can’t find him. Your sight is now so steeped into the streets of the village, that you can’t retrace your steps. You are lost in this labyrinth, with no clear direction of where to go.

So it was last Christmas, when you were running through the town. Left, right, right, left, it all looked the same. Rows and rows of houses, covered in Christmas decorations from porch to chimney, with windows showing the same sight of jolly families serving turkeys, cutting pies, and opening presents. But on you ran, pushing against the blizzard, face covered with snow, screaming his name and direly asking, “Where did you go?”

No one answered. No one noticed you. Not a soul was out of their home. The muffled laughter and the howling blizzard obscured your calls. But, still, you carried on, looking, searching, seeking, until at last you found the end.

Outside of the bright, colorful elf village, there is a little frozen pond. Your eyes glisten with the reflection of the water—painted on glass though it is. How pretty! It looks so fresh, so cool, smooth to skate in, and yet, it looks cold… and so, very… thin.

There was nothing you could do. There was not enough warmth to save him. No blankets could dry the icy water and return his life. Your tears turned to ice, your face frozen, and you were unable to cry. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was far too late. The sun rose, Christmas Day had come, but you had in your arms a frozen boy.

You reach, at last, the end of the elf village labyrinth. Beyond this pond there is nothing more. No sense returning to the town, where Christmas Eve is eternal; where turkey and pie never end; and where gifts are always present. So you close your eyes and weep and sigh.

Then, you slowly open your eyes. Your breath has fogged the window. But when it begins to fade, a familiar sight appears inside. His big eyes full of dreams and adventure. His smile that infects everyone with endless laughter. And on his feet, a a pair of shiny ice skates… The ones you gave him. He is there, skating on the pond, happily frozen solid, and unknowingly frozen in time. His eyes look up at you and he knows it is you. Your little elf is no longer cold, no longer sad. His smile is eternal as is his Christmas, and he is preserved in love. This is the end of the labyrinth. Now, you return home, to your own little elf house, where his precious memory will forever carry on.