As the days grow shorter and the night longer I fear that the Chaos within is consuming me. The conditions are horrific at best and the prospect of completing this task is daunting to say the least. My deadline may not be on Christmas eve but the lack of days haunts me like the ghost of Christmas past. He has given me a deadline that imposes on my sanity. Twenty three days to make and paint just over one hundred models. The elves our around me are each feverishly working on their own task. Each of them tolling away the hours with their heads down. Oblivious to the conditions that surround they are numb from the gallons of milk and cookies they have been forced to eat.
This past weekend the whip was cracked and I was forced to paint model after model. Not wanting me to taste the feeling of success Santa had me painting via an assembly line. No thinking required, just paint here and there and then repeat over and over and over. No breaks could be afford which meant that I would not be fed either. Instead Santa teased me with his milk and cookies while his reindeer played their games.
I feared for my life and my sanity as the days began to melt into each other. Like Las Vegas his toy shop has no windows or clocks. The concept of time is covered in a blanket of snow. Jolly Saint Nick he is not. Rather he is a demon summoned from the depth of hell. A slave master with heart of coal. His decrypted smile flogging me with words far from joy or kindness. He cracks the whip again and screamed "to all a good night".