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Haikus Come in Handy at this Time of Year, by Emma Baird

31/12/2015

Darby and Joan eschewed the usual New Year resolutions. Who wanted to give up on life’s few pleasures – the cider, the chocolate and the lying on the sofa most of the day for abstinence, diets and punishing fitness routines?

Urgh.

“This year, I’m gonna learn how to ice 39 cupcakes in less than a minute!” Darby announced.

“Yum,” Joan said. “Me, I’m gonna conquer the poem!”

“What – writing one?” Darby regarded her, askance.

“No, fool. I can’t write them, but this year I might read one. Maybe two.”

“Don’t be too ambitious Joan, though – I’d recommend starting with the haiku.”

The Holidays, by Russell Conover

30/12/2015

“Where have you been? I thought we’d lost you!”
“I’m fine. Been enjoying the holidays.”
“Without a word to me? I was worried.”
“You know, been entertaining the family and all.”
“So, how’d all that go?”
“Good people, but they were driving me nuts eventually.”
“So what’d you do?”
“Sent them on a ‘scavenger hunt’ to find Rudolph and the other reindeer.”
“And?”
“The fat guy is recruiting extra help for next year.”
“You mean ... ”
“Yep unicorns, ferrets, and more, delivering gifts.”
“Who’da thunk it?”
“I had a feeling. Call me psychic.”
“More like weird.”
“Happy Holidays to you, too.”

Community Service, by Alison McHarg

29/12/2015

Earth hard as iron, water like a stone…

Those Christmas carol lyrics seem incongruous as Cumbria submerges. Biblical floods descend the streets and decimate ancient copses and tourist trails. Glowering Coniston softened into an inland sea.

Fairy lights twinkling and neon Santas still glowing, rising from a sodden lakeland, celebrated for its gentle greenscape. Not now. Mud, boulders, ruined stoves and abandoned sofas line the streets. Bilge pumps and de-humidifiers provide the soundtrack, not carols, and local folk can recite the marauding toll of every storm.

No frost or hard weather is forecast, so they fill more sandbags.

Stressed, by Barney MacFarlane

29/12/2015

The unwitting stress on the second quarter of his short response told her everything she required. Such a tiny word: merely three digits, but satiated with connotation.

They hadn’t been seeing each other long and she wanted to know more about him: his prospects, his motivations, his desires. You know – stuff.

She sipped her cappuccino, allowing the froth to cling tremulously to her top lip, possibly giving him an unintentional impression. “Do you watch porn?” she asked.

He harrumphed a little, cleared his throat then answered, “Not ALL the time.”

All I Want, by Emma Baird

25/12/2015

All I want for Christmas is... ah, convention dictates that I say you. Yes, YOU.
You, who's so vain you probably think this story is about you. I don't like feeling as if I'm part of a gang of non-discriminatory females, too dazzled by good looks and superficial charm to see the man beyond.
There you go. I AM that woman - helplessly obsessed with a man who on paper isn’t a good bet and who is a workaholic.
But a man who brings so much joy to the world and delivers so many presents? Santa, I’m a smitten kitten.

World In Union: Christmas 2015, by Gordon Lawrie

25/12/2015

“She’s this way,” the father said, beaming with pride. “Kind of you to come.”

Six men and women filed into the bedroom. The girl slept in her cot, surrounded by soft toys: donkeys, sheep, cows.

“We’ve gifts for our Saviour,” said Theresa. Sure enough, they all had useful presents – baby oil, nappies, Baby-Gros.

“But...” said Ganesh, “isn’t she our Hindu God? Am I mistaken?”

“Isn't she Sikh?”

“Not Jewish?”

“Or a Prophet of Islam?”

“A new Buddha???”

The newborn’s father sighed. “She’s supposed to be without sin. Let’s not push her into making her first mistake too quickly, shall we?”

Nativity Scene No.1, by Gordon Lawrie

25/12/2015

“Sure you got the address right?” asked Bally. He and Caz were getting irritated.

“Stable Lane,” snapped Mel.

“Lotta money riding on this, Mel,” Caz said, threateningly.

“I’m doin’ my best. Even Land Rovers have to go easy towing caravans.”

“I ain’t losing to hicks on foot.”

“They’re not on foot,” Bally said. “Those guys are professional shepherds – they use quad bikes.”

Caz cursed. “Well you’ve got your sat-nav. They’ll never find that Travelodge in Bethlehem.”

Suddenly, Bally pointed skywards. “What’s that? Sure is bright.”

Mel gasped. “That’s the International Space Station. They’re following that!”

Caz cursed again. “That’s cheating.”

Precious Cargo, by Alison McHarg

24/12/2015

On lumbering camels they came. A star guiding them to the newborn. They knelt in wonder beside the crib and looked at this child saviour. Proffering gifts that signified so much. Resins and precious metal.

An ancient tale that enthrals today. A story of hope, that was forward-looking and one for believers to cherish. Yet no heady fragrance or gleaming gold ever fed a hungry child or purified water. To do that takes everyone’s commitment, vision and a belief in all our tomorrows.

Christmas is surely a gold-plated opportunity for us all to do just that?

Arise Ovis Aries, by Chris Redfern

23/12/2015

“Where am I?”
“Welcome back, sir. Don’t worry, the confusion’s only temporary.”
“What… what happened?”
“You had an accident, sir. We had to clone you a new body.”
“Accident? New body?”
“We couldn’t clone a human body of course, that sort of thing’s just not ethical.”
“What have you done to me…?”
“I’m very sorry sir, but rest assured, you’re not the first person…”
“Help! Some-baaaa-dy! Help!”
“Honestly sir, there’s really nothing to worry about. The rest of the flock will make you very welcome I’m sure.”
“Some-baaaa-dy… help… some-baaa…BAAA….BAAAAAAA!”
“A quite lovely fleece, sir. Now, who’s next?”

Anybody Know A Good Caterer? by Jo Oldani-Osborne

23/12/2015

“No! No! It’s chrome, with convection, STEAM CLEANING and the oven keeps you posted on your iPhone.”

“But it doesn’t fit.”

“IT HAS TO FIT. I HAVE THIRTY PEOPLE COMING FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER IN TWO DAYS!”

“The shoe doesn’t fit, Lady. Dis beam here –it’s structural. “

“But your ad: ‘We install ANYTHING!”

“Structural, Lady,” Mr. Install inhaled what had to be a huge hunk of snot.

Why do men do that?

“Do you have something smaller?”

“Yupper. $2k more and we can have it here tomorrow,” Mr. Install winked.

“Babe, call your Mom – we’re having hotdogs on the grill.”

Christmas, Hmm..., by Len Nourse

23/12/2015

I’m, non-religious Jack put-together, bewildered that religious fanatics on this earth are bent on it’s destruction so decided to do something about it. With thought speed I zipped through space looking for an earth-like planet hoping to find one that had overcome the horror of the fanatical religious evolutionary trait we here on earth are experiencing. Sadly most had gone through Earth’s present state and had destroyed themselves with power bombs or not heeding Natures’ Laws, global warming being one. There were two with the solution was not to be hoodwinked by religion. I’ll now creep back into non-existence.

828 Waterman, by Jo Oldani-Osborne

22/12/2015

It was twilight. The snow was leaving a dusting on the foursome as they sat on the bench facing the only dark house on the block.

“Ma would’ve had a fit if she could see our house with no colored lights-“
Bill put his arms around his two younger sisters as they shivered. Mike, on the end, leaned a little more into the group.

It was the first Christmas -- since.
Janey and Lynn kept sniffling, wiping their frozen noses on mittened hands.
How could four adults, so close, feel so utterly alone?

“Home” was now a concept not a house.

Little Moon, by Virginia Marybury

22/12/2015

Beyond the curve of my breast, your cheek rises like a little moon, still smooth from bathing in my atmosphere.

Little moon, I took scars and sun and bruises for you, and I will turn aside all debris until your mass equals mine.

Your mouth works in shadow, in eclipse, suckling life and mass from my body. My mass slowly spins out into yours.

One day, I will be a sickle moon, and you the gravid body. Then you may be here, watching a new horizon rise above yours.

A Soldier's Christmas, by Joy Essien

20/12/2015

Tired and wistful soldiers in the truck shifted uncomfortably. Batira saw the passing landscape. “Oh, the beauties of home,” he thought. Then his mind moved to Semira, the girl soldier he’d met. He recalled her softness. Shutting his eyes, he tried to block the memory. Semira broke the rules. She loved the enemy and that love ended her life.
The truck slowed down, ending his reverie. He felt his colleagues’ excitement as they prepared to disembark. He felt numb and listless. How would he face his wife, Maria, knowing that his heart was gone forever to a dead rebel soldier?

The End Of War, by Ann-Louise Truschel

20/12/2015

Two old men sat on the rickety wooden bench. Chipped paint showed that the bench had once been painted a bright green.

“It’s very peaceful here,” the one said.

“Yes,” said the other man. “I come here every day just to sit and listen to the quiet.”

“It didn’t used to be quiet,” said the first man. “I can still hear the bombs and smell the fires. I try not to remember, but I can’t forget the wars.

“Yes, we fought wars to make the world safer for our children,” said the other.

“And now there are no more children.”

Michal, by Marlene Goldberg

20/12/2015

My heart pounded when first introduced to David, Papa’s court musician. He brushed away a stray strawberry curl covering his blue eyes, while kissing my hand. This was the shepherd who had defeated the Philistine warrior, Goliath. David’s broad shouldered muscular physique belied his boyish charm. I was in love.

David defeated many Philistines - people adored him. Papa, King Saul, became insanely jealous. Though David never loved me, I had to save him. Luckily, I was already married to David - his trophy for winning the battle with Goliath.

My heart broke when David fell in love with Bathsheba.

That Red Part, by Russell Conover

19/12/2015

“So, Rudolph. Why, exactly, is your nose red?” Cupid frowned.
Rudolph gulped. “Uh, to lead Santa's sleigh, of course.”
“Not buying it. We other reindeer can see fine. What's the real story?”
The “most famous” reindeer did some quick thinking. “Well, I just get so excited when I'm around you and Santa that I light up!”
Cupid crossed his front legs, clearly not believing. But, he gave up and walked away.
“Whew. That was close. This thing's actually magnetically attracted to chocolate, candy, and adult reindeer beverages. Need fuel to keep going all night on Christmas Eve.”

Visitor II, by Jane Reid

18/12/2015

The dragon has been in the parlor for a week now. It doesn’t move around, except to wave its tail. It hasn’t threatened us, although we mostly stay out of that room. It hasn’t eaten (I know some reptiles can go a long time) and, thank Jupiter, it hasn’t excreted. It’s like it’s waiting for something.

Did I leave that window open? I don’t think so. Something’s coming in – a claw!

Now “our” dragon extends a grasping claw. It’s a tug of war. The house is shaking. The walls are falling. The roof is creaking, cracking, crumbling . . .

Ready for Santa Claus, by Gordon Lawrie

18/12/2015

She was convinced that Santa Claus was an illegal immigrant, a terrorist and that his sack contained a bomb with which to blow up everyone up. She also believed he was a muslim, of which his long white beard was proof.

But our hero didn’t lack courage, no! On social media she fearlessly posted capitalised rants demanding Santa’s repatriation. She’d be READY AND WAITING when he came.

On Christmas Eve, she waited for him in the dark. Just after midnight, a hooded figure slipped down the chimney.

But the hooded figure wasn’t carrying a sack, he was carrying a scythe.

The Holy Night, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

18/12/2015

Twas Christmas Eve and Selma was bereft. Ten months ago, they’d told her she’d never recover.

“Walking by Christmas,” she’d countered, convinced they were wrong. Now, her eyes were the only moving part of her body.

“Eyes are a road map to the soul,” her husband whispered as he kissed them, reminding Selma of her mother’s fairy-sparkle kisses.

“Remember, Santa comes tonight, last chance to dream big.”

Her wishes always came true back then, and now?

All night, Selma passionately painted Santa’s skies with her vision: Selma walking.

At 11:59 Selma leaned out her open window.

“I love you Santa!”

Littrachure Part 2, by Emma Baird

18/12/2015

God, some jobs were just too easy.

Leanna (not her real name) watched the girl sitting at the bar, an uncertain look on her face. She said she’d be back, right?

“Sorry honey,” Leanna murmured, unheard, as she left the bar and headed for the office, itching to type up the story. While most people knew of Crispin Grace, few were aware of the proclivities the girl had revealed in all their tacky detail.

“You’re the best Leanna,” her editor said as she read the piece.

Leanna made no pretence at false modesty. “Yeah.”

The best – and also kinda lonely.

A Dolt from the Blue, by Barney MacFarlane

18/12/2015

Mike Gryffyd wasn't much use on social media. Only time he went viral was when he caught Spanish flu.

Others unfriended him like the plague. After a three-week gap online, Mike’s heart lifted to a query from a seeming sympathiser – “Done anything interesting lately?”

He keyed: “I’ve been worshipping the great god of procrastination. A sort of homage to catatonia, as Orwell might have said on a quiet day.”

A solecism too far. No one would chat now.

And all Mike wanted was to be part of Facebook’s 1.55 billion community. A world in union, as it were.

The Pickup (A Cautionary Tale), by Bobby Warner

17/12/2015

"Hi, cutie. You want a ride? I got some candy, and we'll stop for ice cream. Well, maybe . . .

"Come on. Here, I'll hold the door open. Hop right in.

"It's okay. You'll be fine riding in the back of the van.

"Let me fasten your seat belt. And strap your little arms down snugly. Same with your legs. And put a little tape over your mouth.

"No, don't squirm around so much. And don't cry. Nobody's going to hurt you. You'll see. Got a nice place fixed for you in my basement. We'll have great fun!"

Christmas Sounds, by Bobby Warner

17/12/2015

A sliding sound, perhaps of sled runners on the roof; rustlings in the chimney; distant thumps and bumps from the living room, heard faintly through my bedroom door.

I throw back the covers, wondering. I sidle down the dark hallway. I pause at the top of the stairs. I listen as someone slurps the tall glass of milk and smacks down the cookies I left on the fireplace mantle.

Has it finally happened, after all these bleak and gift-less years?

Is it really Santa, with his bag of presents, down there beside the Christmas tree. Or is it Something Else?

Visitor, by Jane Reid

16/12/2015

Uninvited guests don't always come at convenient times...

We had no idea how the dragon got into the apartment. It was far too big to enter a door or window. Yet there it was, sprawling against a living room wall, crushing a chair and my Sheraton-style table, idly waving its tail.

Then Edwin toddled out of the bedroom. “Quick, in here,” I shouted, shepherding the tot into the bathroom. I slammed the door just in time; that spiked tail flipped across the room smashing the top panel.

Call 911? Who would believe me? Anyway, my phone was under the dragon.

And besides, how could the creature get out?

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