Mr Toad smiled to himself. Another year was almost upon him, and he knew
that, finally, he could forget the somewhat unfortunate series of calamities
that he came across throughout the year, and focus on the rest of his life. You
see, Mr Toad knew that the rest of his life was destined to be better than
anything he’d ever experienced before, and the year ahead was one year closer
to this reality.
He knew it.
And he was determined not to falter.
Mr Toad had always been somewhat of a realist, and
knew that even though his lifestyle was not one regularly associated with this
of his species, he did not care.
He was his own person, and knew it.
And nobody could change that.
“Mr Toad?”
The voice echoed through the reed-filled land; soaking
the peacefulness in a river of disruption.
“Mr Toad?”
It came again. Every year, something – or
someone – caused him havoc; hassle.
Last year, the tax man; the year before a Time
Lord…
He sighed inwardly. Was there ever time to relax? Not that he needed to relax; he wasn’t lazy – he wasn’t.
He didn’t enjoy Christmas; never found the
point of it. Too much hassle for his liking.
Mother Toad used to enjoy it, however. She always made a huge fuss, every year, and
told him to stop moaning and enjoy himself.
“It’s only one day, [she remarked] and then
it’s all over for another year.”
And this strange voice was no different.
Disrupting his peacefulness, just because of
Christmas.
He sighed and questioned:
“What are you doing here, disturbing my
afternoon?!”
Her reply:
"I’m here to spread the
Christmas spirit to each and all!”
He grumbled.
Christmas again.
He thought of all the selfish humans splurging
money on unnecessary gifts and replied, monotonously, a single syllable:“Humph.”
The little girl's eyes began to fill with tears at this
creature’s disgust, and asked, silently, as though not to disturb his negative
thoughts – in case they escaped his mind and hurt her:
“Please, kind sir, you don’t believe in the
Christmas spirit?”
His reply:
“Christmas?! No. I do not. What made you ask
that ridiculous question?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I did not realise… Please,
accept my dearest apologies…”
He paused for a moment, before answering:
"Well, I do accept, but please do not bother me
again, you are not welcome here, child.”
“Please, take this gift as an apology…”
The little girl's arms suddenly outstretched, revealing a
neatly-wrapped parcel of intriguing shape.
“A gift?! [he exclaimed] Gifts are the curse of
Christmas!”
She sobbed.
“But, sir, this is a special gift. Please, accept it?”
He groaned deeply, and with a nod, took the
gift from the girl, and unwrapped it; slowly.
There, in his arms, lay the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on in his life.
He smiled.
Maybe, just maybe, Christmas wasn’t so bad after all…
