Why must I commit to such a godforsaken job? Is it a job or is it slavery? For eternity, I am required to not only make presents for the ungrateful offspring of humanity, but deliver them in the cold, perilous weather, with little supplements of mince pies left stale for me to eat by their fireplace. No one knows how I do it so quickly. Believe me, they'll be impressed for a man of my senility. Yet I still deliver their neglected presents, even when they stopped believing. Rid me of thy curse, Satan, the anagram of my name.
by Louis Nguty (14)
St Cuthbert's Catholic High School, Newcastle Upon Tyne
Competition - Mini Monologues
Copyright remains with the author.