The Christmas Scarab

In the vast dunes of the desert, beneath a starry sky that glimmered like a million gems, lived a curious scarab named Saphir. His golden carapace, gleaming like the first light of dawn, reflected the moonlight as he tirelessly rolled his precious ball of dung across the sands. Saphir had heard whispers among the animals about a magical event called Christmas, a time filled with joy, light, and wonder.

Saphir’s curiosity was piqued. “What is Christmas?” he asked the beetles, who scoffed at him.

“Christmas? That’s for the big animals in the snowy lands,” one elder beetle said. “Reindeer pulling sleighs, bears cozy by the fire, and even the foxes in the woods. But not us. It’s not for desert creatures like you or me.”

Saphir furrowed his brow, his determination growing. “But why should it be just for them? Aren’t we all part of this world? If Christmas is about joy and light, why should it stop at the edge of the desert?”

The elder beetle shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. We’ve never been part of those celebrations. They wouldn’t understand us, and we’ve always thrived without it.”

Another younger scarab chimed in, “Saphir, don’t waste your energy. Those animals are different. They live in a world of snow and stories we can’t relate to. Christmas doesn’t belong to us, and it never will.”

Saphir shook his head. “I can’t accept that. If we’ve never tried to understand their world, how can we be so sure they won’t understand ours? Perhaps Christmas isn’t about snow or stories but something deeper. I have to find out for myself.”

The elder beetle clicked his mandibles in frustration. “You’re chasing illusions, Saphir. What if you leave the desert and find nothing but rejection? What if their joy has no place for us?”

Saphir stood tall, his small frame casting a determined shadow under the moonlight. “Then at least I’ll know. But isn’t it better to seek understanding than to stay here and assume? Maybe their joy could teach us something we’ve forgotten. Or maybe we have something to share that they’ve never known.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered scarabs. Some nodded thoughtfully, while others remained skeptical. One old scarab, her carapace scratched and weathered, finally spoke. “Perhaps the little one has a point. Sometimes, it’s not the traditions themselves, but the willingness to see beyond our own boundaries, that brings light into the darkness.”

With those words, Saphir felt a renewed resolve. He turned toward the horizon, ready to follow the strange star that seemed to beckon him onward.

Under the shimmering light of this bright star—one that seemed to guide him—Saphir ventured out of the desert and into the nearby forest, where the tales of Christmas were said to be born.

The forest was unlike anything Saphir had ever seen. Trees dressed in icy white sparkled in the starlight, and the air was filled with a crisp chill. He approached a cluster of animals gathered around a glowing tree adorned with baubles and ribbons.

“Excuse me,” Saphir said, his voice small but determined. “Is this Christmas?”

The animals turned, their expressions kind but curious. A fox with fur as red as the sunset tilted her head. “This is our Christmas celebration. Who are you?”

“I’m Saphir, a golden scarab from the desert. I’ve heard of Christmas and wanted to see it for myself. But I was told it’s not for creatures like me.”

A bear, his voice deep and warm, chuckled. “Who told you that?”

“The other scarabs. They said it’s only for reindeer, bears, foxes, and such.”

The animals exchanged glances, and a gentle deer stepped forward. “Oh, little scarab, Christmas isn’t for one group or another. It’s for everyone—every being that holds love, hope, and kindness in their heart. The spirit of Christmas doesn’t see the differences between us; it celebrates the beauty we all share.”

Saphir’s eyes glistened. “So… even a scarab like me can celebrate Christmas?”

The fox smiled. “Of course! Christmas is about unity and joy, not exclusivity.”

The animals welcomed Saphir into their circle, and he marveled at the warmth of their company, the laughter, and the stories they shared. He rolled a little ball of snow to the base of the glowing tree and added it to the pile of treasures there. “It may not be much,” he said, “but it’s my gift to Christmas.”

The animals cheered, for the scarab’s gesture was a reminder of the true spirit of the season.

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Moral of the Story

Many times, it is not about how things truly are, but how they are perceived by others. What we choose to believe can shape our world. Christmas, like love and kindness, belongs to all who embrace it, regardless of who or what they are. It’s not the label we carry but the spirit we share that defines the beauty of life’s greatest moments.

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Sometimes, the smallest journeys illuminate the biggest truths about belonging and joy.

Note:
Thank you for reading “The Christmas Scarab”! This is the tenth story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!