Christmas Agent
Months have dragged on since his last encounter with the Mr. Anderson. I say dragged, because that is how Agent Smith would have said it. Being with the very things he despised for so long, it makes days seem like weeks. And there was no escaping them. For in the Matrix there never was an Exit for an Agent. Their smells filled his breath, suffocating him. Making hatred that he always had burn. He allowed it too, being free as he was, there was no use hiding such small emotions. He was no longer part of the system. He was Smith. And he roamed the Matrix as he pleased, but of course it was not pleasing to him.
This is the time before the rise and fall of Smith. Before the epic battle of him and The One in which we all witnessed. Before his unseen death. For now Agent Smith was free, and alone. He had not yet found his ways of copying his code to others, to form his army of himself. All Agent Smith had was himself, and the hatred for all of the creatures that he could never escape. This was only two months after the Mr. Anderson killed him, freeing him. The rise of Smith was soon to come. But for now, he walked around the cold streets of the Matrix. The humans had decorated their city with a variety of lights. It was Christmas.
He did not feel the cold of the winter night, of the small bit of snow that rained from the fake sky. He did not feel cold, he never did. Such things did not bind him anymore. So he walked down the street, in his suit that was his. He breathed the air, but the cold did not show is breath, for he was unlike any other. He was not like them. The dark night had no moon, but the lights all over the city made it bright enough for him to wear his sunglasses. He did not understand the need to put up lights in the darkness of the night. He did not understand why the humans seemed more efficient with each other around this time, actually working together to get things done. He did not understand the meaning of drinking eggnog only around now. He did not understand why the sounds of human children laughter were heard more often now. He did not understand Christmas. He did not really want to.
Agent Smith walked down the decorated street. He could see the humans holding bags of items, and rustling in the stores. He saw people dress as the "Santa Claus" asking for donations. He saw humans sing together in unity. He saw them decorate trees around the city. Children played with the snow that fell upon the ground. They all seemed. . . well, happy. Such behavior was unseen to Smith. In all his existence Smith had seen this Christmas many times before, but never before did he have the time to stop and look at it. His Christmases were full of chasing rebels, the Mainframe never allowed him to stop and wonder about the lights. But humans working together, in almost perfect unity were unheard of to him. But there in front of him the humans did just that. Smith showed no emotion to the rest of the world, but he was truly baffled at this month of December. Even the humans that did not celebrate this holiday seemed to be counted in this unity.
Humans were irrational, arrogant, hostile, inefficient, emotional, irrelevant creatures. But such unity and efficiency were qualities of machines or programs. What made their behavior change so vastly? What was it to Christmas that made such peace all around the Matrix? How could decorative lights change such behavior? How could a tree change them? A belief in a man that sneaks into their houses? Eggnog? Cookies? Snow? Irrelevant things. They did not have such power to change something so massive. Did they?
Smith pondered to himself, as he walked across the street. He had nowhere to go. Just simply explore the city's celebration of Christmas. He would not need to sleep, perhaps he would stay up all night researching this holiday.
He turned the corner to see a giant tree in the center of the city. People gathered around it, watching people on ladders finish the decorations. He saw the lights reflect off the humans awing eyes. What was so amazing about a giant tree? He stood staring at the tree, trying to see what was so great about it. But he only saw a tree. And only smelled their filth.
Smith turned around, no answers lied there. Perhaps he would never find the answer. He did not really care the answer. He would soon kill them all, what did he care about a holiday that would not exist as soon as he would win? Why should he care about creatures he hated? But curiosity killed the Agent. He still searched for the answer.
"Sir, aren't you cold?" A woman's voice.
Smith turned quickly to the human. She stood in her sweater on the stoop of her apartment. Smith gave no human face to her. But she did not care.
"I am fine." He replied.
"Are you sure? It's supposed to snow some more tonight. I could give you one of my coats." She urged.
What causes such concern for others?
"I am fine." He said again.
"Okay. . . Merry Christmas, sir." She said.
Smith took a second to listen to those words, Merry Christmas.
"Yes. . . Merry Christmas."
What causes such ways to give? Humans were mostly keeping to themselves, though taught sharing they didn't really do it often. Why was this time of the year so different from any other?
Smith shook his head. He was getting angry with this question. He was not use to know knowing. He hated the fact that the humans knew something he didn't. Without even trying they mocked him. Smith made a fist. He hated trying and not getting. He felt a little weak.
Smith sighed. He shouldn't feel that way for something so small.
The answer didn't matter.
He decided to turn to the city park. He thought no one was there at night, he wouldn't be bothered by anyone. No more sights of Christmas. No more questions. Only plans. He should have been planning on how to kill Mr. Anderson, not fiddling with Christmas.
Smith could see the park now. He was disappointed to see human children playing in the small bit of snow there. He sighed. It was all he could do.
He walked on the icy sidewalk of the park. He watched the children trip over the snow, forming balls out of it, and throwing at each other. A violent motion, but they seemed to be laughing. Smith did not understand.
Then he felt his side get hit. He stepped back, putting his hand over his supposed wound. Who hit him? A rebel? An Agent? He looked at the wound, was he bleeding? Then he realized, he was hit by snow. The children hit him!
"Sorry mister!!"
"Yeah sorry!" The children yelled.
Smith could have killed them for not being more careful, but then he realized they said sorry. Why do they apologize? That is not like them. Humans are not kind, they are not united. Why are they like this now?
Smith stared at the children, wrapped in their heavy clothing. They stared at him, the strange man in a suit. Smith bit his lower lip, and brushed off the snow from his suit. He nodded to the children, then they continued to play. Smith watched them for a moment. Even the children are acting more efficiently. Smith didn't understand, as he walked away from them. He went deeper into the park, where lights of the city could be barely seen. Away from them. Away from their questions and their cheering. Separate from them.
There still in the snow is a park bench. But there is something already there. A child, a boy. Smith wonders, but tries not to care, as he sits on the other side of the bench. He does not glance at the child. He ignores him. He only thinks about his question.
But the child on the other hand, wonders of this stranger in the suit. He stares at Smith, mouth opened, surprised by him. Smith notices the child's eyes, but still ignores him. The child looks away for a moment, then back at Smith. The child slides closer to him. Smith was getting annoyed. Smith took off his sunglasses, putting them in his jacket pocket, and he turned only his eyes to the staring child. The child looks so small and fragile.
"Who are you?" The child asks quietly.
Smith is surprised and annoyed by the rudeness of the question.
"I am Smith." He says.
"Oh. . ."
The child sounds disappointed. Why is a child out here? Smith wonders to himself.
"Are you not cold?" Smith asks the child, finally turning to face him.
The child shivers and wraps his arms around himself.
"I am very cold." He replies.
"Then why are you out here?" Smith interrogates.
"I have no where else to go."
The child sounds weak. Smith looks around, but finds nothing.
"Where are your parents?" Smith asks.
"I don't have any. . . I'm an orphan."
Smith knows of the relationships between human and their children. He knows some are without each other. Those children often become depressed with no one to be there for them. Smith turns his head.
"What is your name?" Smith asks.
"I'm Thomas."
Smith shrugs. The name of the man he hates the most.
"What are you doing here?" Smith interrogates further.
"Nothing. . ."
"What do you mean?"
"I. . ."
Thomas didn't know what to say to the stranger. He came from nowhere, and only asks questions. But looking up at this man. . . He felt the need to answer him, like something bad would happen if he didn't.
"I ran away, that's all." Thomas finally answered.
"From where?" Smith asked.
"The Orphanage. There is nothing there for me, only yelling." Thomas turned away.
"You should return. It is your assigned shelter."
Smith didn't understand. Why would anyone run away from their shelter?
"We don't even get Christmas gifts there. The adults tell us Santa forgot us, but I know they steal the gifts. . ." Thomas whispered.
Smith didn't feel much emotion, but he knew that was wrong, an injustice. Although it was from a human, this child seem so small, so fragile, so scared. He could not hurt him.
"I've never gotten a gift." Smith said.
"You haven't?" Thomas turned back to Smith.
"I've never really understood Christmas. This holiday, you humans."
Smith realized he sounded inhuman, but he didn't think a child would notice.
Thomas couldn't believe this stranger, as he sat next to him.
"Christmas is the time for giving. It's when everything is okay. And people sit with their families, and they have gifts. They laugh, and they're together." Thomas tried to explain.
"But you and I have no family." Smith said. Perhaps this child could help him understand Christmas.
"No. . . But we celebrate with friends."
"I have no friends."
Thomas stared at this stranger. How could he have nothing? Thomas couldn't believe him. Thomas looked at Smith's blue eyes. He saw nothing. As if this man was nothing or had nothing.
"How come?" Thomas asked.
"I just do not." Smith replied.
"Who are you?"
Smith did not answer, merely stared at Thomas. Thomas didn't know what to do. He just didn't know what to say. . .
"I am not like you, Thomas. I do not feel cold. I do not feel such things. You must feel so cold, and weak. You feel these emotions, but I do not." Smith explained, trying to see if the children could explain it better this way.
"Smith. . ."
"When you are cold, and alone. I'm sure you feel sadness, despair, fear. But I do not. For I cannot even feel this coldness. I cannot feel the cold weaken me, of kill me. For I cannot die."
Thomas stared at Smith.
"But I still do not see the purpose of this Christmas." Smith continued.
"Smith. . ."
Could it be? If this man cannot die then. . .
"Are you an angel?" Thomas asked hopeful.
Smith was shocked by the question. He turned to Thomas, and saw the hope in his eyes. He could not disappoint this child for some reason.
"I suppose in a sense I am." Smith agreed.
An Angel is one who has passed on to the next life, death. But an Angel is also a higher being, one beyond humanity, better, evolved. That is what Smith was.
"I knew it! I knew it! I always wish really hard around Christmas. I ask for an Angel." Thomas admitted.
"Why?"
"So that Angel can help me find my family."
Smith stopped. Was he really going to do that? Perhaps Christmas is in that question itself.
"Let me look at you, Thomas." Smith said.
Smith looked down at the boy's hand. He looked at the thumbprint. Maybe he could find his parents. Then he looked at the boy's eyes, and stared at him, trying to find a genetic pattern.
"Do you know your last name?" Smith asked.
"Thomas, Rodgers." Thomas replied.
"Rodgers." Smith repeated to himself.
Looking into his code, looking into the files of his memory. He searched his files, looking at all in the Matrix. Being an Agent, you were given small files on everyone, to justify rebels. Smith closed his eyes, and Thomas stared at him. It didn't take long for Smith to find him.
"Thomas Rodgers, son of Dian Rodgers and Christopher Rodgers. Your parents were very poor people, Thomas. I believe they left there because they couldn't provide for you. They live the next city from here." Smith said.
Thomas's eyes brightened. He started to cry, at his Angel. He grabbed Smith and hugged him.
"Thank you, Smith!" Thomas yelled.
Smith tried to get out of Thomas's grasp, but could not. He only waited until he was done. Thomas wiped his tears away.
"Come. I will take you back to your Orphanage, they should be able to find your parents now that we have their names." Smith commanded.
Thomas nodded, tears in his eyes. Smith walked behind the boy, has he led him back to the Orphanage. Back to the city of lights, where humans were changed only for this time of the year. Smith could hear all of them, telling each other Merry Christmas. Smith still didn't understand, as they entered the crowd.
"Come on Trin, I got a gift for you."
"Oh, Neo. . ."
"I know it isn't real, but I. . ."
"Neo. . ."
Smith turned. Across the street he saw him. Mr. Anderson! He whore different clothing than his cloak, more appropriate for this time. He didn't where his sunglasses nor did the woman. Smith had a perfect time. He could surprise him. Kill him!
"Smith. . ." Thomas interrupted.
Smith looked back down at Thomas. Then back to Mr. Anderson.
"Something wrong?" Thomas asked.
He had a perfect time to kill him! But Smith stopped. There would be another time.
"No, let's go." Smith said, pushing Thomas forward.
"I always had hope for this day. Thank you, Smith." Thomas said.
Then Smith stopped. Perhaps Christmas was of hope. Giving hope to them when there is none in this time. That is why everyone is untied, hope for something better unites them. Hope that they will be together. Hope that they will stay together, giving gifts. Decorating things with lights to show light in the darkness. Perhaps hope is all. Smith knew that there was no hope for this race. But now Christmas did have a purpose. It fueled these creatures. He hated them, but for now he enjoyed their peacefulness. He knew that someday all these people would be his, but for now he let them enjoy their hope. For it would be the last Christmas he would allow.
"Merry Christmas." Thomas said.
Smith looked down at the small boy.
"Merry Christmas, Thomas.
Then again, maybe not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Merry Smithmas everyone.
Months have dragged on since his last encounter with the Mr. Anderson. I say dragged, because that is how Agent Smith would have said it. Being with the very things he despised for so long, it makes days seem like weeks. And there was no escaping them. For in the Matrix there never was an Exit for an Agent. Their smells filled his breath, suffocating him. Making hatred that he always had burn. He allowed it too, being free as he was, there was no use hiding such small emotions. He was no longer part of the system. He was Smith. And he roamed the Matrix as he pleased, but of course it was not pleasing to him.
This is the time before the rise and fall of Smith. Before the epic battle of him and The One in which we all witnessed. Before his unseen death. For now Agent Smith was free, and alone. He had not yet found his ways of copying his code to others, to form his army of himself. All Agent Smith had was himself, and the hatred for all of the creatures that he could never escape. This was only two months after the Mr. Anderson killed him, freeing him. The rise of Smith was soon to come. But for now, he walked around the cold streets of the Matrix. The humans had decorated their city with a variety of lights. It was Christmas.
He did not feel the cold of the winter night, of the small bit of snow that rained from the fake sky. He did not feel cold, he never did. Such things did not bind him anymore. So he walked down the street, in his suit that was his. He breathed the air, but the cold did not show is breath, for he was unlike any other. He was not like them. The dark night had no moon, but the lights all over the city made it bright enough for him to wear his sunglasses. He did not understand the need to put up lights in the darkness of the night. He did not understand why the humans seemed more efficient with each other around this time, actually working together to get things done. He did not understand the meaning of drinking eggnog only around now. He did not understand why the sounds of human children laughter were heard more often now. He did not understand Christmas. He did not really want to.
Agent Smith walked down the decorated street. He could see the humans holding bags of items, and rustling in the stores. He saw people dress as the "Santa Claus" asking for donations. He saw humans sing together in unity. He saw them decorate trees around the city. Children played with the snow that fell upon the ground. They all seemed. . . well, happy. Such behavior was unseen to Smith. In all his existence Smith had seen this Christmas many times before, but never before did he have the time to stop and look at it. His Christmases were full of chasing rebels, the Mainframe never allowed him to stop and wonder about the lights. But humans working together, in almost perfect unity were unheard of to him. But there in front of him the humans did just that. Smith showed no emotion to the rest of the world, but he was truly baffled at this month of December. Even the humans that did not celebrate this holiday seemed to be counted in this unity.
Humans were irrational, arrogant, hostile, inefficient, emotional, irrelevant creatures. But such unity and efficiency were qualities of machines or programs. What made their behavior change so vastly? What was it to Christmas that made such peace all around the Matrix? How could decorative lights change such behavior? How could a tree change them? A belief in a man that sneaks into their houses? Eggnog? Cookies? Snow? Irrelevant things. They did not have such power to change something so massive. Did they?
Smith pondered to himself, as he walked across the street. He had nowhere to go. Just simply explore the city's celebration of Christmas. He would not need to sleep, perhaps he would stay up all night researching this holiday.
He turned the corner to see a giant tree in the center of the city. People gathered around it, watching people on ladders finish the decorations. He saw the lights reflect off the humans awing eyes. What was so amazing about a giant tree? He stood staring at the tree, trying to see what was so great about it. But he only saw a tree. And only smelled their filth.
Smith turned around, no answers lied there. Perhaps he would never find the answer. He did not really care the answer. He would soon kill them all, what did he care about a holiday that would not exist as soon as he would win? Why should he care about creatures he hated? But curiosity killed the Agent. He still searched for the answer.
"Sir, aren't you cold?" A woman's voice.
Smith turned quickly to the human. She stood in her sweater on the stoop of her apartment. Smith gave no human face to her. But she did not care.
"I am fine." He replied.
"Are you sure? It's supposed to snow some more tonight. I could give you one of my coats." She urged.
What causes such concern for others?
"I am fine." He said again.
"Okay. . . Merry Christmas, sir." She said.
Smith took a second to listen to those words, Merry Christmas.
"Yes. . . Merry Christmas."
What causes such ways to give? Humans were mostly keeping to themselves, though taught sharing they didn't really do it often. Why was this time of the year so different from any other?
Smith shook his head. He was getting angry with this question. He was not use to know knowing. He hated the fact that the humans knew something he didn't. Without even trying they mocked him. Smith made a fist. He hated trying and not getting. He felt a little weak.
Smith sighed. He shouldn't feel that way for something so small.
The answer didn't matter.
He decided to turn to the city park. He thought no one was there at night, he wouldn't be bothered by anyone. No more sights of Christmas. No more questions. Only plans. He should have been planning on how to kill Mr. Anderson, not fiddling with Christmas.
Smith could see the park now. He was disappointed to see human children playing in the small bit of snow there. He sighed. It was all he could do.
He walked on the icy sidewalk of the park. He watched the children trip over the snow, forming balls out of it, and throwing at each other. A violent motion, but they seemed to be laughing. Smith did not understand.
Then he felt his side get hit. He stepped back, putting his hand over his supposed wound. Who hit him? A rebel? An Agent? He looked at the wound, was he bleeding? Then he realized, he was hit by snow. The children hit him!
"Sorry mister!!"
"Yeah sorry!" The children yelled.
Smith could have killed them for not being more careful, but then he realized they said sorry. Why do they apologize? That is not like them. Humans are not kind, they are not united. Why are they like this now?
Smith stared at the children, wrapped in their heavy clothing. They stared at him, the strange man in a suit. Smith bit his lower lip, and brushed off the snow from his suit. He nodded to the children, then they continued to play. Smith watched them for a moment. Even the children are acting more efficiently. Smith didn't understand, as he walked away from them. He went deeper into the park, where lights of the city could be barely seen. Away from them. Away from their questions and their cheering. Separate from them.
There still in the snow is a park bench. But there is something already there. A child, a boy. Smith wonders, but tries not to care, as he sits on the other side of the bench. He does not glance at the child. He ignores him. He only thinks about his question.
But the child on the other hand, wonders of this stranger in the suit. He stares at Smith, mouth opened, surprised by him. Smith notices the child's eyes, but still ignores him. The child looks away for a moment, then back at Smith. The child slides closer to him. Smith was getting annoyed. Smith took off his sunglasses, putting them in his jacket pocket, and he turned only his eyes to the staring child. The child looks so small and fragile.
"Who are you?" The child asks quietly.
Smith is surprised and annoyed by the rudeness of the question.
"I am Smith." He says.
"Oh. . ."
The child sounds disappointed. Why is a child out here? Smith wonders to himself.
"Are you not cold?" Smith asks the child, finally turning to face him.
The child shivers and wraps his arms around himself.
"I am very cold." He replies.
"Then why are you out here?" Smith interrogates.
"I have no where else to go."
The child sounds weak. Smith looks around, but finds nothing.
"Where are your parents?" Smith asks.
"I don't have any. . . I'm an orphan."
Smith knows of the relationships between human and their children. He knows some are without each other. Those children often become depressed with no one to be there for them. Smith turns his head.
"What is your name?" Smith asks.
"I'm Thomas."
Smith shrugs. The name of the man he hates the most.
"What are you doing here?" Smith interrogates further.
"Nothing. . ."
"What do you mean?"
"I. . ."
Thomas didn't know what to say to the stranger. He came from nowhere, and only asks questions. But looking up at this man. . . He felt the need to answer him, like something bad would happen if he didn't.
"I ran away, that's all." Thomas finally answered.
"From where?" Smith asked.
"The Orphanage. There is nothing there for me, only yelling." Thomas turned away.
"You should return. It is your assigned shelter."
Smith didn't understand. Why would anyone run away from their shelter?
"We don't even get Christmas gifts there. The adults tell us Santa forgot us, but I know they steal the gifts. . ." Thomas whispered.
Smith didn't feel much emotion, but he knew that was wrong, an injustice. Although it was from a human, this child seem so small, so fragile, so scared. He could not hurt him.
"I've never gotten a gift." Smith said.
"You haven't?" Thomas turned back to Smith.
"I've never really understood Christmas. This holiday, you humans."
Smith realized he sounded inhuman, but he didn't think a child would notice.
Thomas couldn't believe this stranger, as he sat next to him.
"Christmas is the time for giving. It's when everything is okay. And people sit with their families, and they have gifts. They laugh, and they're together." Thomas tried to explain.
"But you and I have no family." Smith said. Perhaps this child could help him understand Christmas.
"No. . . But we celebrate with friends."
"I have no friends."
Thomas stared at this stranger. How could he have nothing? Thomas couldn't believe him. Thomas looked at Smith's blue eyes. He saw nothing. As if this man was nothing or had nothing.
"How come?" Thomas asked.
"I just do not." Smith replied.
"Who are you?"
Smith did not answer, merely stared at Thomas. Thomas didn't know what to do. He just didn't know what to say. . .
"I am not like you, Thomas. I do not feel cold. I do not feel such things. You must feel so cold, and weak. You feel these emotions, but I do not." Smith explained, trying to see if the children could explain it better this way.
"Smith. . ."
"When you are cold, and alone. I'm sure you feel sadness, despair, fear. But I do not. For I cannot even feel this coldness. I cannot feel the cold weaken me, of kill me. For I cannot die."
Thomas stared at Smith.
"But I still do not see the purpose of this Christmas." Smith continued.
"Smith. . ."
Could it be? If this man cannot die then. . .
"Are you an angel?" Thomas asked hopeful.
Smith was shocked by the question. He turned to Thomas, and saw the hope in his eyes. He could not disappoint this child for some reason.
"I suppose in a sense I am." Smith agreed.
An Angel is one who has passed on to the next life, death. But an Angel is also a higher being, one beyond humanity, better, evolved. That is what Smith was.
"I knew it! I knew it! I always wish really hard around Christmas. I ask for an Angel." Thomas admitted.
"Why?"
"So that Angel can help me find my family."
Smith stopped. Was he really going to do that? Perhaps Christmas is in that question itself.
"Let me look at you, Thomas." Smith said.
Smith looked down at the boy's hand. He looked at the thumbprint. Maybe he could find his parents. Then he looked at the boy's eyes, and stared at him, trying to find a genetic pattern.
"Do you know your last name?" Smith asked.
"Thomas, Rodgers." Thomas replied.
"Rodgers." Smith repeated to himself.
Looking into his code, looking into the files of his memory. He searched his files, looking at all in the Matrix. Being an Agent, you were given small files on everyone, to justify rebels. Smith closed his eyes, and Thomas stared at him. It didn't take long for Smith to find him.
"Thomas Rodgers, son of Dian Rodgers and Christopher Rodgers. Your parents were very poor people, Thomas. I believe they left there because they couldn't provide for you. They live the next city from here." Smith said.
Thomas's eyes brightened. He started to cry, at his Angel. He grabbed Smith and hugged him.
"Thank you, Smith!" Thomas yelled.
Smith tried to get out of Thomas's grasp, but could not. He only waited until he was done. Thomas wiped his tears away.
"Come. I will take you back to your Orphanage, they should be able to find your parents now that we have their names." Smith commanded.
Thomas nodded, tears in his eyes. Smith walked behind the boy, has he led him back to the Orphanage. Back to the city of lights, where humans were changed only for this time of the year. Smith could hear all of them, telling each other Merry Christmas. Smith still didn't understand, as they entered the crowd.
"Come on Trin, I got a gift for you."
"Oh, Neo. . ."
"I know it isn't real, but I. . ."
"Neo. . ."
Smith turned. Across the street he saw him. Mr. Anderson! He whore different clothing than his cloak, more appropriate for this time. He didn't where his sunglasses nor did the woman. Smith had a perfect time. He could surprise him. Kill him!
"Smith. . ." Thomas interrupted.
Smith looked back down at Thomas. Then back to Mr. Anderson.
"Something wrong?" Thomas asked.
He had a perfect time to kill him! But Smith stopped. There would be another time.
"No, let's go." Smith said, pushing Thomas forward.
"I always had hope for this day. Thank you, Smith." Thomas said.
Then Smith stopped. Perhaps Christmas was of hope. Giving hope to them when there is none in this time. That is why everyone is untied, hope for something better unites them. Hope that they will be together. Hope that they will stay together, giving gifts. Decorating things with lights to show light in the darkness. Perhaps hope is all. Smith knew that there was no hope for this race. But now Christmas did have a purpose. It fueled these creatures. He hated them, but for now he enjoyed their peacefulness. He knew that someday all these people would be his, but for now he let them enjoy their hope. For it would be the last Christmas he would allow.
"Merry Christmas." Thomas said.
Smith looked down at the small boy.
"Merry Christmas, Thomas.
Then again, maybe not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Merry Smithmas everyone.