The Passion Project
The Christmas Robbery
Updated: Jan 4, 2021
by Dia H
“Connie? You got the bag?” Bart watched as Connie produced a black garbage bag from under the waistband of his oversized, snow pants. Though the temperature hadn't even dropped below 35 degrees Fahrenheit that day, Connie still insisted on wearing his father’s snow pants, wanting to protect himself from the couple of inches of snow that didn’t have a chance to melt during the day’s endless rays of sunlight.
Bart recalled when earlier, Connie had justified his choices by providing Bart and the crew with situations in which he would be both the warmest and the safest.
“And if the house we hit tonight had a recent acid spill, I’ll be the most protected. I have an extra layer!” Connie had exclaimed. Their driver, Fir, had responded by telling Connie that his feet wouldn’t be safe from the acid, despite Bart’s instructions to ignore the kid. This, of course, had prompted Connie to make Fir turn the car back around so he could grab his rubber boots from home.
Bart shook his head, throwing away the idea of the past. From now on, Bart was only concerned about the present and future. As in, if he did a good job with the Christmas Eve robbery today, he would definitely be sitting in his own throne later.
“All right. We have everything needed. Now, we just need to execute the plan.”
“The plan. Right. Which is…” Myra looked at Bart with a questioning look on her face. Myra was tall, and was thus the lookout.
Bart groaned. “Did none of you read the email I sent you last night?”
Fir glanced at Bart before looking over his shoulder. “I don’t know how to email.”
Connie sighed before telling Fir, that once again, he would teach him on Saturday. Bart shook his head, before taking the garbage bag from him. “Look, it is really simple. We sneak in through the open window on the ground floor, make our way to the tree in the living room, and take the presents.”
Everyone nodded, and when Bart saw that even Connie had a determined look on his face, his worries were damped. “Good, lets go.”
Bart had done it so many times before. Opening the window from the outside was second nature to him. So was quietly trooping through the house, walking like he belonged there. But what Bart hadn’t seen before, was Santa. But there he was, standing in the living room, placing presents carefully under the tree.
Someone bumped into him from the back, probably Connie (the rubber boots made it hard for him to walk). “Woah, is that…”
Santa turned around, his eyes narrowing. Bart could feel his eyes traveling from the boots on Connie’s feet to the black garbage bag clenched in Bart’s hands.
Santa looked up, meeting Bart’s eyes. “You…”
And that was when it all turned black. Bart couldn’t place his finger on what happened, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up the next day in his own bed. Bart got up, scratching his head as he made his way into his own living room.
There it was, hanging on the mantle. His own stocking. But what Bart didn’t expect to see was a bulge in his stocking. He rushed over to it, pulling out a large lump of coal. He remembered what his mother told him when he was young. “Santa only gives out lumps of coal to the bad kids, the ones who don’t behave.”
Bart remembered what Santa had said to him the night before ”You’ve been a bad boy this year.”