The SPF
DJ Daniels
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 DJ Daniels
http://zombiejungle.wordpress.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The line outside VIDS was long and wound out through the shopping centre. They found the end of it one floor down. Zoe was relieved that her parents at least had the dignity not to run for a spot. Robot entertainers on stilts passed out chocolates. Wind up mice scuttled between feet, leaving a trail of advertising in their wake.
‘Don’t step in that, Zoe.’
‘Mum, I know that. I’m not a baby.’
‘Look, Zoe, something’s happening,’ said Dad.
He was right. What seemed like one thousand candy canes shot up from the bottom floor and reached the ceiling, four floors up, in about two seconds. They hovered briefly and then exploded into rainbow colours.
‘Firework lollies,’ said Dad. ‘It reminds me of when I was a kid.’
‘Seriously,’ said Mum.
‘They can’t be fireworks, there’s no smoke,’ said Zoe.
‘It’s pretty, though,’ said Mum. Then through the colours flew the angels. They moved slowly, their large wings making them seem a little like giant butterflies. Their bodies were metal, or seemed to be, far too heavy for the gauzy wings to carry.
‘What do you reckon? Motorised?’ whispered Dad to Zoe.
Zoe shrugged.
The angels began to sing.
‘It’s nice,’ said Mum, ‘but they’re a bit tinny.’
‘You’re so critical,’ said Zoe.
‘And you’re not?’
‘Sssh,’ said Dad. ‘It’s beautiful. Just how Christmas should be.’
Fifty horrible angel carols later, they came to the point in the line where they could see Santa Claus. A young, somewhat bored, elf came up, took their names, and gave Zoe a red Christmas hat.
‘It’s so fake,’ said Zoe.
‘But they test you for free,’ said Dad.
‘Yes, so it’s worth it,’ said Mum. ‘Put on the hat, Zoe.’
‘Don’t blame me if I get hair lice.’ But Zoe put it on. She could feel the wires prickling at her skull. She knew she looked bad, but then so did every other kid.
They were almost there. The child before her was sitting on Santa’s knee and smiling for the camera.
‘I’m not going--’ Zoe started. But she was interrupted. A woman who didn’t appear to have embraced the Christmas theme walked up to them briskly.
‘Mr and Mrs Pantalone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you all please come with me?’