SLAM !
The door hangs off the hinges, slamming against the wall. The cold drifts into the room, and the fire dances wildly, matching the pace of Neno’s thrusts. There’s no words, only hate that he pours into me. My cock twitches, demanding attention, only to be ignored. The muscle twitching impatiently.
“Plea-”
Neno stops at my word, surprise etched on his features. “What is that?”
I let go of my pride, maybe this is a Christmas miracle. Maybe if I lose myself in his game, I would be able to wake up, so I beg. “Please.”
“Please.”Thrust. “What?”Thrust. “Do.”Thrust. “You.”Thrust. “Want to.”Thrust.Thrust. “Come.”
I nod.
His reply comes in the form of brutality, his pace demonic as he ruts into me over and over. The candle tips over, the wax spilling and burning my balls. A scream rips through me, and he comes so deep inside me that I’ll be leaking for days. Just before I can say another word, he stuffs a plastic ornament into my mouth.
My saliva chokes me, and I sputter, trying to catch my breath as he cleans himself off somewhere else in the room while singing a Christmas song as the corner of my vision fades to black until the darkness swallows me whole.
8
Gift of the future
The smell of burnt sugar and plastic greets me, and my eyes flutter open. The fire is gone, and the air hums with something mechanical, not the soft crackles of the flames. The cabin walls are stripped bare—no wood, no warmth, and by the looks of it, no Neno. Just white fluorescent lights, sterile, and a white room that whines as if it’s learning how to breathe.
Using my elbows, I prop myself up, and recognition instantly slams into me as I take in the rows of conveyor belts, which seem to extend into infinity. Plastic snow falls from the ceiling, dusting the corpses of toys piled up in high mountains. Their glass eyes stare up at me, wide and unblinking, causing a shiver to run through me. Each of their heads moves slowly in counterclockwise positions, their drawn on lips stretched into wicked grins.
Static crackles from speakers before a menacing, high-pitched voice startles me. “PORTER TOYS. WHERE JOY COMES TO LIFE.”
My heart beats rapidly inside my chest as my head moves from one side to the other. I’m holding my breath, expecting to see Neno,but instead, the slogan is recited over and over, and the lights begin to flash in quick, flashing strokes.
STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP.
My hand clutches each side of my head, and my body rocks with each menacing laugh. “Stop. Stop.” I repeat over and over, rocking slowly back and forth as my whispers drown in my voice in the ad, cheerful and false.
“Here, at Porter Toys, we believe that each gift tells a story.”
What a bunch of crap… Fuck! I didn’t even believe in Christmas. I lost the magic the morning my parents’ mangled bodies were discovered wrapped around a tree. Footsteps echo throughout the space, the sound is coming from every direction, making it hard to pinpoint the exact location.
Suddenly, Neno stands beside me, no longer dressed in red or with a white fake beard adorning his face. Instead, he wears a black long coat lined with frost, looking as if he stepped right out of a winter storm. Slowly, he turns his face towards me, the lines of his features sharper—something is different.
The golden hue of his skin is opaque… He looks like a ghost of himself.
“Welcome to the future, Toy King,” he says softly, opening his hand to show me the last gift with the wordsFuturewritten on the label. “You finally did it.”
Confusion strikes me. Exactly what did I do? This place is empty, devoid of any warmth my parents created. No. This isn’t what I wanted… No.
“What is this?” I ask. “What exactly did I do?”
My own voice echoes through the sterile room, bouncing off the walls and repeating into eternity. Neno laughs, the crescendo of it rising with each shake of his shoulders. When suddenly, it stops.
No hint of humor marred his ghostly features. “It’s what you built. A world that doesn’t need you.” His heart-shaped lips curl into something sinister. “A world that doesn’t care for you.”
Neno gestures towards the endless line of machines, they hum and move without hands. Soldering circuits and filling boxes faster than any human could. A camera whirs, the sound startling me. I look up at the screen built into the wall for ads, and all I see is statistics.
Profit margins, output, and global distribution, each climbing endlessly upward.
Making me insanely rich by the second, something hollows out in my chest. snaking its way into the frozen muscle. My hand instinctively rises, touching the spot where it feels sore, rubbing it gently as Neno menacingly stares at me.
“Your workers went home,” he mutters, his fingers trailing down my bare skin. Only now I realize I’m in a nightgown of sorts. The white hem stops right at my thighs, right where his fingers linger. “In their place, machines took over. They just kept building, making you richer, while those workers suffered.”
