The Christmas Arrow

"What do you mean there's no gift for him, Hermey? Santa said every present was accounted for. It's not like I can fly back to his workshop and grab one. We're in... Oh fiddlesticks, wherein the Jack Frost are we?"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Cupid. Santa always has spare gifts in his magic hat. You do have the hat, right?" Hermey asks, reminding me that I stuffed it into my pocket. Thankfully, one of us showed up for this last-minute excursion with our thinking cap on.

Santa found himself feeling a little less than jolly after a bad batch of eggnog rendered him sicker than his reindeer when they've snuck one too many carrot cookies. In the spirit of Christmas and sprinkling joy, I agreed to help him out in exchange for a favor. In case I ever need one from him someday.

"You bet your twinkle toes I do, Hermey."

Reaching into my pocket, I grab the red velvet accessory and fling out my arms with so much excitement. The sleigh simultaneously lands on the rooftop, causing Santa's hat to slip from my fingers and disappear into the blackened night.

"Oh, for the love of all things sweet, why me?"

"Way to go, Doctor Love. This was our last house of the night. You have to deliver something." Hermey reminds me even though my exhaustion is a significant indicator of that.

I don't know how Saint Nick does this every year!

Scrambling out of the sleigh, I pace back and forth on top of the powdered snow roof. Drumming my fingers against my forehead, I try to think of a gift that I can give this man they call Elliot.

Hearing a not so pleasant commotion coming from inside the house, I investigate. Maybe seeing Elliot will spark a brilliant idea.

Throwing off Santa's plush jacket, my wings spring free and fly me to where the sound is coming from.

Peeking through the frosted window, I see a dark-skinned woman with shoulder-length curly hair standing in a doorway.

"You're not my husband! I could never be with someone like you, Elliot! I can do better than some measly amateur artist." She shouts, slamming the door and storming off down the narrow hallway.

"Well, sprinkle me with pepper. That wasn't very cheerful," I say to myself, feeling a ping of bitterness strike my tender heart.

Gliding alongside the brick-paved house, I search for Elliot's window on the backside of the house. Spotting a man who looks like a droopy flower, dwindling on the wooden floor, I stop and land on his window sill.

Elliot folds his hands and looks straight toward me. His gingerbread-colored eyes wield so much tenderness before he closes them and bows his head.

"Please, God, if you're listening, can you help Holly? I need her... Please." A river of emotional tears paddle down his cheeks as his chin quivers.

Pressing my hand against my chest, my heart slowly breaks, seeing the longing that's painfully etched on his face.

Elliot gets to his feet and runs his fingers through his soot colored beard, walking toward an easel. He flips a few of its pages and reveals a stunning portrait of a woman. His fingertips trace the outline of her face.

"Holy mistletoe! It's the woman from the hallway!" I shriek, eager to find out more about this captivating tale.

Leaning further into the window, I see a particular look glimmer across Elliot's face. The twinkle in his eye makes my weak heart crumble like the droppings from a sugar cookie.

Elliot loves her.

Feeling around on my shoulder, I reach for my bow and quiver filled with golden-tipped arrows.