Blog Archives

Exchanging Gifts with a Demon, by Aditya Deshmukh

15/12/2018

"Wakey wakey, my favourite puppy."

Billy brought his hands over his face to block the torchlight his wife flashed at him. "Leave me alone!"

"I want a gift."

Billy crawled back to a dark corner in his cell. "Oh God, no." But a moment later, he nodded fearing what she would do to his wife if he refused. "What do you want?"

"Don't you know?"

"I-I can't."

"Come on, it's Christmas! Gift me your body, and I'll gift your wife her freedom."

"Really?"

"Yeah, this vessel's getting...old."

"Alright," he whispered, weeping.

A black storm descended, blinding him forever.

Letter to Santa, by Andrew Newall

15/12/2018

Santa received the letter.

Dear Sir

I was in your store on Saturday with my four year old son, Owen, and I took him to visit Santa at his grotto. He was in for longer than the other children. Afterwards, I asked him what he had asked Santa for and he told me he asked for a bike.

This is the first my son has spoken since he was born and it has absolutely made my year. I would like you to pass on this letter to Santa to thank him for his kindness and patience.

With my warmest regards

Safety Test, by Kim Hare

14/12/2018

“These children are dangerous.” Says the Manager during my interview.
“You must appear strong.”
This I know I am not, so why am I here?
“They’re impulsive, chaotic, you must always remain calm.”
This I can certainly try.
“Remember they’ve been betrayed, they’re alone and the world is a dangerous place.” My stomach tightens with unexpected recognition.
“It's their last chance saloon. If it fails, next stop’s prison. Our job is to help them feel safe with adults they can trust. We want them to blossom and fly.” And my tired heart soars, this is where I want to be.

Of Christmas Past, by Tikvah Feinstein

14/12/2018

He took his violin from its case, unclipped the bow, rubbed rosin on its stretched horsehairs, made a tuning run through the strings.

He sat down in a chair by the table and began to play “Oh Holy Night.” Music was what the man did when he felt he had nothing else to offer.

"Look, he's taken my nipple. Already!

“It’s a miracle,” cooed the mother, gentle music flowing in the cabin.“My fifty-year-old breasts making milk for our new baby. I feel like Sarah in the Bible."

Andrew laughed. “Born on Christmas Day. Hallelujah. Let’s call him Rudolph.”

Auf Wiedersehen, by Charles Boorman

14/12/2018

Hans and Anna had always loved boat rides, all their long life together. Whether rowing across alpine lakes, gliding down the Rhine with boatloads of tourists, or guided tours of busy harbours like Hamburg, they never missed a chance to take a boat trip. But this one, aboard an old trawler that chugged into the wintry North Sea from Cuxhaven, would be their last. As the roar of the engines dwindled to a murmur, the skipper nodded: here, now. Hans lowered the urn with Anna’s ashes into the sea. “Auf Wiedersehen, sweetheart,” he said, “see you again soon, I hope.”

Not Thelma, Not Louise, by Gordon Lawrie

14/12/2018

Hurtling in her car towards the cliff-edge, she asked herself how it had come to this.

Others said it was because she wanted so much, didn't think about the consequences. She on the other hand understood that it was her destiny. She had promised to follow this road. Any sort of U-turn would betray that promise, would see her pilloried. Not that there appeared to be any road back anyway, and the car appeared to have no brake or reverse gear.

No, she must be strong, she mustn't cry. Foot on the accelerator, look straight ahead. Shame about the car.

‘Tis the Season, by John Cooper

14/12/2018

George had always loved Christmas.

That special time when people seemed to be just happier than normal. Over the years he had noticed that they actually acknowledged each other during this period; some even going as far as to talk to complete strangers that they met out walking. Might only be a simple ‘Hello’ or ‘Good Morning’, but it was better the than the usual rushing past, eyes cast down at the ground, ignoring everybody and everything.

Yes Christmas definitely brought out the best in humans and, as a dog, George found that a source for great optimism.

Bells and Balls, by Pamela Kennedy

14/12/2018

"Honey, did you know that the word for cow balls, cojones, is related to the word avocado?"

"Really?"

"Really! I just read that in this article."

"I find that 'bullsh*t'."

"Why?"

"Cows have bells, 'BULLS' have balls".

"Oh!"

"My sweet city-raised wife, why don't you come to bed with me and I'll show you the difference."

"Honey, that's a lesson I don't want to miss."

Born to Sleigh, by Rekha Valliappan

14/12/2018

Talk was that reindeers would appear by the frozen pond. Each year Bonny had patiently waited, at the very spot her Pa had vanished one Christmas long ago, carried by Santa's 'helpers' to Lapland.

But no reindeers returned.

Now at eight, she understood. A big girl, Ma called her. She knew traditions were make-believe. The sleigh was unreal.

Despondently she turned away, blinking away her tears, and headed home.

There by the warm fireplace stood an antlered shape carrying with it the ghost of her long gone Pa. It nuzzled into her outstreched hands and her heart skipped a beat.

In the Spirit of Christmas, by Pamela Kennedy

14/12/2018

I felt your soft kiss against my cheek and heard those magical words, "I still love you". I knew you wouldn't let Christmas come and go without even a "Hello".

With the moon casting its beams upon your shadow, the void that had been in my soul for so many months vanished. Your presence this Christmas was the best present you had ever given me.

I love presents! Please keep the Spirit of Christmas year round...
so don't forget there's Valentine's Day, my birthday, our anniversary...need I go on?

Wings, by Linda Eve Diamond

13/12/2018

Once, just once, Hugh paused on a bridge, looked out, and wished he’d never been born. An angel of mercy appeared with a smile and whirled him through scenes of a world that was thoroughly absent of him. They saw his family, lovers, friends, even relative acquaintances and casual strangers, untouched by him, unaffected by his existence… and they were all better off. It’s a wonderful life, said the angel, with a magical smile. Then he thanked Hugh for the selfless spirit of his wish and wiped the Earth clean of him, as if he had never been born. Ding.

Dear Santa, by Jon Remington

13/12/2018

Dear Santa,

this christmas, I wish for no toys.

I wish that you instead use your magic to help them.

Something has changed and I don't know why.

When they yell I hear bits and pieces. When they whisper about it I try guessing.

Sometimes I guess till I have to get up and go to school.

They only go outside if they have to. Nobody comes visiting anymore.

They sit watching Netflix and drink grown - up juice, all day.

Sometimes, I try to make them smile.

I wish I could do something.

Please, santa.

Only you can help

Oh-So Fabulous Christmas, by Lisa Miller

12/12/2018

She’s lonely again. Jobless means no yearly video of her buying Christmas gifts for the homeless. Or pose for selfies while stringing lights on the outdoor trees around town. Desperate, she answers an ad for a Mall Santa.

“Ho-ho-ho,” she says with a thick, booming voice. My friends will freak when I reveal Santa Claus is me. A girl! Best video yet? She thought.

Her friends love her back with thousands of “likes.” Following, her once more. Taking a deep breath, she grabs the VR headset to watch the “Christmas Experience.” Her life’s looking oh-so-fabulous. She’s connected again.

Injustice Never Dies, by Sankar Chatterjee

12/12/2018

Bill Lloyd, an AP-photographer finished covering a recent intrusion of an outsider in a remote island in the Atlantic inhabited by a Neolithic tribe. During return, he stopped in the main island of the cluster to visit a now-defunct notorious prison of the past colonial ruler. Recently, Bill watched a biopic of a regional courageous freedom-fighter. He was captured and hanged inside this prison. He located the wooden-gallows, when his smart-phone pinged. His colleagues definitely linked the recent murder of an investigative-journalist to his own government.

Bill looked up. Now, he saw the hanging white rope that he missed initially.

Southbound, by Marjan Sierhuis

12/12/2018

Photo: Toronto Transit

The first time I saw Mary was on Christmas Eve. We both waited for the train on the southbound subway platform. Her arms were laden with packages.

Although I tried not to stare, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. At least not until that very moment.

She suddenly glanced over at me and smiled. “Hello,” she said, laughter in her voice.

Her voice rendered me speechless. But not for long.
“Hello. Do you need help?” I asked.

Years later I still help Mary with her packages, although it doesn’t have to be Christmas Eve.

Solitary Souls, by John Cooper

12/12/2018

He had seen her now for weeks standing alone in the window.

At first he had just passed her by, too caught up in his thoughts to take much notice. But after a time her daily presence began to nag away at him. Such a sweet looking face. What did she want and why was she always at that particular window looking at him?

As much as he tried he could not get her out of his head, even beginning to look forward to seeing her standing there each morning, a companion on his daily commute.

His beautiful, solitary mannequin.

Boxing Day on the Beach, by Simon Harris

12/12/2018

Same time. Same place. Fourteen years later. The memory hasn’t faded. The nightmares remain.

We stand quietly, my hand on his shoulder, staring out across the ocean.

Every year we do this. I wait for him to speak although I know exactly what he will say. His words have never changed. “I miss them.” Neither has mine. “Me too.”

“Dad, I don’t want to do this again. We need to move on.”

Tears well. “It’s okay, I understand. I’ll come alone next time.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then.”

Same time. Same place. Same words.

An Unexpected Gift, by A. K. Hata

11/12/2018

Joe hated this year’s Christmas play. His friend had gotten sick and instead, the girl with the red locks stood beside him. Again, she taunted him by making funny faces. The fanfare sounded, and the curtains parted. The sea of spectators quietened. He opened his mouth, but his mind went blank. Everyone waited for him to speak. He considered running off-stage, when the red-haired girl took his hand. She smiled at him and nodded before she started with the narration. Baffled, Joe hurried to join her lead. A new friend was the best present one could wish for, he thought.

Grandma's Thumb, by Patti Normile

11/12/2018

If Grandma’s thumb had kept on growing, it would have formed a perfect circle, thumbnail down, thumbpad up. The curve fascinated me. I wondered why her thumb looked different from mine. Then in the kitchen I discovered the answer. Grandma was making one of her delicious puffy omelets. As she cracked each egg, she used that beautiful curvy thumb to whisk every last bit of egg white from the shell. That’s why God had made Grandma’s thumb with the perfect curve! Her thumb held a valuable lesson for me. Waste nothing! Not even a smidge of egg white!

Step by Step, by Russell Conover

11/12/2018

Joe was crunched for time. Between his two jobs and life in general, he had little time for writing. However, he refused to give up on his goal.

“Write a little each day,” he told himself. “Keep this going.”

His story progressed. Though he started with little, a solid tale emerged. He smiled, viewing his masterpiece. “This is going to work out!”

Suddenly, a little blue man appeared on Joe’s desk. “Congrats!” it told him. “You’re making fine progress!” Bluey danced around, arms in the air.

Joe blinked. “OK. Too much coffee while writing. Must focus on the crucial task.”

So What Now, by John Cooper

11/12/2018

Well I did try my best but you know how it goes, you can’t please everyone and there were a lot of people I needed to please.

Yes I’ll keep trying – you know what they say if at first you don’t succeed etc, etc.

Anyway I’m sure I can get a better outcome if I just keep going – reshuffling the pack, rearranging the deck chairs, all that kind of stuff. I mean there really isn’t anyone else who can do this, so there’s no alternative except than to keep buggering on and on and…

Oh, by the way, Happy Christmas!!

Ready, by Don Tassone

10/12/2018

Every year, after Thanksgiving, people began getting ready for Christmas. They began shopping for gifts, putting up lights and decorations and pulling together names and addresses for holiday cards. As Christmas approached, their homes became crowded, and their lives became hectic.

But his family took a different approach. In the weeks before Christmas, they began to scale down. They began giving things away and remembering how to make do with less. Their house became lean and the pace of their lives grew slow until at last on Christmas Eve they themselves were empty and still and ready to receive.

Snowballs for Santa, by Mark Tulin

10/12/2018

Whenever I’m asked why I threw the snowball at Santa in ‘68, I tell them the truth. It was twenty-below and Franklin Field was full of snow. The Eagles were losing another one.

But that’s not the main reason.

This skinny dude with a scraggly beard was dragged from the stands to be a stand-in for Santa. First, we had a lousy football team, then the Eagles sent out a Santa imposter who’s half-drunk during a halftime parade. Of course, I’m going to throw a snowball at him.

I did it in the spirit of Christmas.

Festive Cheer, by Charles Boorman

10/12/2018

The clang of the gates shutting behind him as he walked out to freedom still rang in Kurt’s ears. He hadn’t been in a place like this for years, the beer was going to his head.

“Need a little festive cheer?” sniffed the skinny man perched on the stool next to him. They agreed to meet somewhere more “discreet.” Getting up to leave, Kurt noticed a movement near the candle: a moth was fluttering close to the flame. Kurt sat down again with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Another beer?” asked the barman. “Make this one alcohol-free”, replied Kurt.

Never Too Old for Santa, by Lisa Miller

10/12/2018

“I’m six-years-old. You’re only five,” my brother announced. “Bet I can prove Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

Listening for voices from the Christmas party downstairs, we tip-toed upstairs to our parent’s bedroom. “Look,” he whispered.

I’m devastated. It’s Uncle Wayne.

The line is a mile long for Santa and his elves the next morning at the Mall. I looked down at my shoe, stalling. My Mom could tell something was wrong. Not sure what to say I blurted out “I’m too old for Santa Claus!”

So, she sat on his lap instead and read off her long list of goods.

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