It is the day after the ritual sacrifice and consumption of the fowl. Now, we are at the mall. We must be at the mall. There is no choice. It is required. No one remembers why.
There are crowds. They do not know why they are here. They have been summoned, but they know not for what. They search the mall for the single item that calls to them. Some of them have been searching for hours. Some will never leave.
I have sought refuge in a Starbucks. The barista hands me a coffee without my ordering. When I try to order something else, she gives me another of the same. There is a crowd behind me. I move on. The coffee is sickly sweet with peppermint and chocolate. I finish it. And the other. I have seen what happens to those who tried to dispose of their cups early. They are brought before the barista to be judged. Her judgment is swift.
The Mall Santa is nearby. There are many malls, but there is only one Mall Santa. He is in all of them. I hear the screams of the children. They are frightened. They know this is unnatural. Some of the screams cut off abruptly.
Parents are leading their children away. The children are crying. Some have no children as they leave. They are crying.
The Santa looks at me. He nods. He sees that I know. An Elf appears next to me. She hands me a candy cane. The red on the cane is still wet and sticky. I have been marked. Marked as safe. I will survive the culling at the end of the season.
I am in a line. Someone asks how long I have been waiting. It has been 20 minutes. It has always been 20 minutes. I see people at the altar ahead of me, making their sacrifices of currency and taking their boons away. The line ahead of me grows no shorter.
Someone else asks how long I have been waiting. I tell them it has been 20 minutes.
I look again. The altar is further away. The clerks work tirelessly at their registers, their faces already hollow, already desperate, but the line grows no shorter, only longer.
It is Black Friday. I am at the mall. I must be at the mall. I must wait.
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