“Thank you for the doll, Santa. Won’t you accept my gift?”
Sarah extended a brightly wrapped package with a smile.
“You have a present for me?” Bill Murphy, the department store Santa, was unsure. Wasn’t there a something in the store policy manual about not accepting gifts? He stalled to cover his confusion, “Ho Ho Ho!”
“We’re supposed to exchange gifts on Christmas, right?”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
Inside the gift box was a pair of odd-looking spectacles with bright orange frames and thick lenses. Rainbows shimmered across them, like the sheen on a soap bubble.
Bill slipped on the glasses. Everything he could see came abruptly into focus, sharp edges razor-delineated. Bright primary hues in high contrast dominated every direction he glanced.
A vested bunny carrying a pocket watch hurried by, pursued by a family of mice racing on tiny motorcycles. Tall grass and pussy willows grew over the store’s linoleum tile floor, and toadstools sprouted in fairy rings. A gently burbling stream flowed out of the Housewares department and tumbled down the escalators.
“My gift,” Sarah laughed, “You can see through a child’s eyes whenever you wish.”
She kissed Bill’s cheek, then spread her wings and flew away.
199 words. In response to this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt: