"Pass the scissors, honey," Glenna LaGlee requested of her husband.
"You promise you're only going to use them to cut paper?" he asked teasingly.
"Oh, fuck it then. I don't need scissors!" Glenna said happily. She grabbed a roll of wrapping paper with happy Santa faces on it, and began covering herself in papercuts. She had worked papercutting up to an artform in the hospital. Soon the Santas' jolly white beards were covered in rich red blood.
"Honey, stop it! We promised that we wouldn't try and kill ourselves until Christmas was over. For the kids," Rick LaGlee scolded.
"I'm... sorry," Glenna uttered between sobs. "It's the wrapping."
"I know. I feel rotten too. Let's not bother with the rest. It's almost 12 anyhow, let's go put the gifts under the tree."
"Alright."
They wandered downstairs, each carrying four hastily wrapped packages. Their son, Christian, lay sprawled across the couch.
Rick sighed. "It's your turn to check for his pulse."
"Again?" whined Glenna, as she walked over and felt Christian's neck. Her fingers began to press harder and harder, until Christian choked himself awake.
"Get to bed son," Rick said.
"Why dad? I wanted to wait for Santa."
"Because there is no fucking Santa. You're what, six years old? Wake up to reality. Now get the fuck out of here, and pretend you believe in Santa in front of Grandpa," Rick growled as Christian ran upstairs, his head in his hands.
The LaGlees wept themselves into a blissful sleep, dreaming of the day when they could all be at rest. The alarm buzzed and they awoke and dressed, and headed downstairs. Christian and Christina sat on the couch, sullenly perusing their stockings, muttering softly about "stupid fucking oranges."
"Go wake up Grandpa, Christina," Glenna ordered.
"But Grandpa smells, I hate him!"
"We all do, dear. But we have to have someone to put on a show for, or the whole thing is worthless."
A few moments later, Christina dragged in Grandpa and flopped him down on the recliner. Rick slapped Grandpa, lightly at first and then with increasing hostility. After a few minutes, Grandpa awoke and bore audience.
"Open your presents Christina," Rick oredered.
"I hope it's a my little pony!" Christina said, somewhat cheerfully, as she shred the wrapping and pulled out a black sweatshirt with a hood.
"I hope this is the my little pony!" she said as she pulled out a package of razor blades. "What's this for, Mom?"
"Ummm... Your... uhh... legs," Glenna said, as she mimed slitting her wrists.
Christina wandered off and sat alone in the fireplace in her black robe, as she gently reached into the packet of razor blades and swallowed them all, spitefully.
"Save me some, you selfish bitch!" Glenna yelled at the fountain of blood her four year old daughter had become.
"See how fucking happy we are Grandpa?" Rick said bitterly. "Open your present from Grandpa, Christian."
Christian gently unwrapped the happy green and red wrapping paper, revealing a Debbie Gibson tape. His jaw dropped slightly, as he stared at Grandpa in awe.
"Say thank you," Rick yelled, cuffing Christian in the head.
"Thanks, bastard!" Christian yelled resentfully at Grandpa.
"Debbie Gibson, she's good, eh?" Grandpa mumbled.
"Yeah, a real fucking message," Christian yelled as he picked up the fireplace poker and jabbed in through Grandpa's chest. He then slammed the iron spike into his own skull, and slumped to the floor, landing with a splush on the blood soaked carpet.
"Your turn, honey," Glenna said, moving things along.
Rick slowly began to peel back the black paper. Suddenly, he stopped. "Fuck it," he said, staring into Glenna's worthless eyes. He raised his left wrist to his mouth and bit.. deeply. The blood poured down his face and throat and all over Glenna. As the blood gracefully spurted into the light sockets, the lights flickered and sparks shot out. The dry needles of the long-dead tree were startled ablaze, as Rick's smiling corpse slumped into the remaining presents.
Glenna tidied up and went to the kitchen to prepare the turkey for the guests.