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Dear Santa,

I could not think of any reason why I should be mad. And yet I am, mostly at myself more than anyone else. She tried to talk me out of my sullen state, but a stubborn mule heeds not his master's coaxing until the master takes out his whip. Does that mean I'm going to get coal in my stockings?

That night when the young man tossed his shillings into the water and sent for his servants to have them retrieved, I didn't rush to the river bank to wet my hands and soil my knees. Instead, I stood very still and I thought. It did not make sense for all of us to get down on our knees when the most well-trained man had already cast out our biggest net. To me, it was foolish. To me, I was redundant. And so I offered no aid. Instead, I hurried to rest my head. Tell me, have I done you any wrong then?

I have been in a weary state as of late, because with a captain that lacks a crew, the ship will one day sink. Come the day the captain throws down his bucket and seizes to bail water out of his ship, the sinking ship will take with it the captain, the crew, and all the pent-up frustrations down into the watery gallows of regret. If I give up on my ship now, will I be condemned?

Dear Santa, the line between right and wrong have become but a blur in my mind. I hope I still get nice presents this Christmas though, I promise I have tried to be good.

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