Poor Innocent George

"

Dear Satan,

I've never asked you for anything before. Momma always told me you're not real, so I shouldn't get my hopes up. Well, I guess you've never come to our home because we never set up an x-mas tree? But I don't know anymore. Momma isn't here anymore, and neither is Pappa. I don't know who to ask for help.

Timothy has been harassing me again. He won't leave me alone. Every day he comes around to our old tent and throws rocks at me. He shouts at me and tells me there's no place in this city for 'beggars' like me. It's not like I want to beg. I just want enough to eat. I told Timothy it's not fair that he was born in such a comfortable house to such a loving family, but he just hit me in the face with a rock. My mouth is bleeding and my lips are swollen, I can't talk anymore. Now even the kindly baker from across the street who used to give me his stale bread won't look me in the eye.

I won't ask for much. All I want for my shoes to be repaired. I want to leave and go to a different neighborhood, no one here will even give me leftovers anymore. But the snow is too cold, I can't walk outside without my feet freezing. Please just replace my soles so I can go away.

Yours sincerely,

George.

"

The figure looked up from the letter. He was troubled. After all, it was the first time such an innocent kid had pleaded for his help. He was only supposed to punish the wicked, not help the good.

A stroke of inspiration struck him. He read through the letter again, and snickered, "Let's just say he's not the only one who makes spelling mistakes. Huehuehue."

That Christmas day, Timothy woke up to find himself in a destitute and cold tent, freezing and with a bleeding mouth. An equally confused George woke up to a pair of loving parents, who fed him a Christmas meal, clothed him in a warm sweater, and gifted him a brand new pair of shoes.

Satan hadn't just replaced his soles, he'd also replaced their souls.