Twelve O'clock

It was already twelve o’clock. By Jove, I was late for church, so I had to quickly dress myself. I didn’t even bother to think about breakfast until a thought flashed through my mind: “I don’t really have to go to church today… I could say I’ve got some holiday matters on my hands, which I actually do.” Suddenly, I felt embarrassed. “Carol Cristas Maessev, a full-on Christian, skipping church on Christmas Day!” From what I’ve been told, I must have been insane a second ago—nobody who is Christian skips church because they are sleepy.

After a few minutes, I was finally there, listening to a priest speaking about the great Lord. Bored, I thought about what had happened yesterday.

The whole week had been a disaster. I was determined to give Kris, my child, a present for Christmas, but I barely had enough money to care for the two of us. For the whole week, I worked at every job I could find: substitute teacher, temporary janitor, weed cutter—everything. But no, we were still short of money. On Christmas Eve, I paced around our house anxiously. I was completely cooked; I had no gifts, and I really couldn’t come up with an excuse. It wasn’t until midnight that I convinced myself to sleep, telling myself that staying up late wouldn’t help.

I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking I needed to drink some water, and walked slowly to the kitchen. I then heard someone whisper, “Rudolph, don’t you think teacher wages nowadays are too low? Their jobs are very important, though.” At first, I thought there was a burglar, but somebody nearby grunted in agreement. Another voice continued, “Anyway, I know this gift would make her happy. Let’s go now,” before being interrupted by a rough “grunt, grunt.” Soon after, the same voice added, “Now, Jolly and Holly, don’t fight over who gets to carry Taylor Swift’s gifts. I know you both really want her signature. I’ll try. Now let’s get going.”

In a flash, a red Maserati sports car appeared. It was the first time I saw him clearly; he had a beard and was wearing a polo shirt. He hesitated and said, “Do I really have to do this? I like sports cars better.” A reindeer answered with a firm “neigh,” and he replied, “Fine.” With a wave of his hand, the car turned into a sleigh just like in the stories, and just like that, he rode toward the horizon.

Awestruck, I thought about what Santa had said about my job and felt a warm feeling inside, so I decided to go back in. I whispered to myself, “Kris, I think Santa came!” Maybe—maybe in this era, where a person who gives you knowledge is considered less important than stupid online videos, there is still a wisp of hope.

Written by Alison, a 5th grader, this piece blends wit, imagination, and social awareness in a way that’s genuinely rare at her age. From a tired teacher’s inner monologue to an unexpected midnight visitor, she reminds us that storytelling can be playful and meaningful, and hope sometimes arrives in the most unexpected forms.

We’re very proud of this young writer and can’t wait to see where her words take her next.