Blog Archives

Death, the Respecter of No One, Doug Bartlett

27/12/2019

Joe’s grandfather had raised him since he was four years old. They grew to love each other deeply over the years and had a very special bond. Joe had grown to be a wonderful young man under his grandfather’s tutelage.

It was a very sad and difficult day when death paid a visit and separated them. This just wasn’t fair.

“Why did this have to happen to him?”

“Why now?”

The questions continued to flood his mind while he stood in the cold, dark and damp evening air as he peered through his tear-soaked eyes at his grandson Joe’s tombstone.

Home Improvement Course, by Marjan Sierhuis

27/12/2019

His wife patiently watches from the sofa while Noah unwraps the Christmas present that sits in his lap. He removes the colorful paper in eager anticipation. He lifts off the boxes lid and studies the contents.

He is momentarily speechless as he looks over at his wife.
“Thank you, sweetheart. You are far too generous,” he says as he removes a cordless drill and several tools from the box.

“You can finally start that home improvement course you have been talking about for the last several months,” she says, unable to disguise the delight in her voice.

Tripped Up, by Sandra James

27/12/2019

They’d been married for three years and still Ellie was convinced her mother-in-law hated her and didn’t think she would never be good enough for her son.

Jason laughed at her concerns. “Mum adores you,” he would say. His mother was always the epitome of kindness when he was around.

On Boxing Day they relaxed in front of the television after a busy family Christmas.

“See,” said Jason, “Mum does love you. She bought us tickets to Fiji for the honeymoon we never had.”

“Yes,” said Ellie, “but yours is for a round trip. Mine is one way.”

The Breakup, by Mary Wallace

27/12/2019

The walk along the Swan River to admire the Christmas lights, before they were packed away had been her idea. For the past six months anything vaguely romantic had been her idea.

Gazing in awe at the beautiful Christmas tree, she turned to find him gazing with the same awe at a solar powered compacting rubbish bin. It was the last straw! They had drifted too far apart; he was no longer the man of her dreams.

Perhaps if it had been another woman, but she would not play second fiddle to a rubbish bin. Even a solar powered one!

Back from Hollywood, by Mark Tulin

27/12/2019

I hadn’t seen my daughter, Blenda since she moved to Hollywood three years ago.

When she came home for the holiday, boy, had she changed.

I didn’t recognize her. She had a Gucci bag, Prada shoes, and a Pierre Cardin watch. She talked about all the celebrities she had met, the famous people she had made commercials with, and her roles in prime time TV. Not once, did she ask how I was doing.

Despite all her name dropping, I gave my daughter a hug. She had grown up to become a very superficial person, but I love her anyway.

The Benefits Claimant, by Gordon Lawrie

27/12/2019

An old man approached the counter. "I want to claim Universal Credit," he explained.

"Just like the rest," the official sighed. "OK, what's your excuse?"

"Redundancy. My work is seasonal, one day a year."

"Seasonal? That's just shirking. You need a proper job to qualify for benefits." Twenty minutes later, the old man had been offered work as a checkout operator, dog-walking or refuse-collecting. Dismayed, he shook his head each time. He left empty-handed.

Each year was the same. Tomorrow, he'd be back in his red fur-lined cloak, begging on the street and pretending he wasn't really Santa Claus.

Don't Cut the Tree! by Yola M. Caecenary

27/12/2019

“Don’t cut the tree!” cried the sun. “Let the tree hinder my heat from going directly to the land.” The man did not hear. Days passed and the weather is hotter.

“Don’t cut the tree!” cried the air. “Let the tree filter the polluted me to deliver the fresher me.” Still, the man did not hear. The next day air pollution is higher.

“Don’t cut the tree!” cried the people. “We need them.” The man did not want to hear.

“Don’t cut us!” cried the trees. “Don’t you have any consciousness?”

The man’s consciousness finally awoke. It was too late.

Never Again, by Henry Bladon

27/12/2019

There was a ‘thwump’ as he fell into his chair to read the paper. He was still wearing his badge from the post-Christmas festivities which read, ‘Father C.’ Scanning the front page, he groaned. ‘Pah! “well-earned rest,” what do they know? “Feet up for another year,” what humbug!’ Over the years, ‘Humbug’ had become one of his favourite words. ‘This is the last one,’ he said, calling through to the kitchen. His wife appeared in the doorway. ‘You always same the same,’ she said, ‘but you’ll be back out there again next year.’ Father C cursed. He hated being predictable.

Artistic Expression, by Russell Conover

27/12/2019

Olivia dipped her paintbrush into the can, and flung the yellow paint against the wall. She did the same with cans of blue, red, and green. Releasing some of the ongoing tension from her recent divorce felt wonderful, and being creative like this was great as well.

Restarting her life had been tough. However, she had a good job and a nice place to live. Plus, she’d started painting, which was awesome, though today was her first attempt at random free-form.

Life would go on. She’d be OK. And art would always let her express herself during challenges and celebrations.

A Quest for Change, by Sivan Pillai

27/12/2019

“When shall we live in such a building, dad?”

Raju lay wide awake, thinking of his four-year-old son’s question. The palatial building, where he and his wife had worked as labourers, was complete. They were to go to their village in the morning and return to the city after a few weeks to work at some other site.

“We won’t return,” he told his wife suddenly. “Let Jai join the school in the village. I don’t want him to become a labourer like us. We shall cultivate our land. And do something else too, if necessary.”

Love Triumphal, by Yash Seyedbagheri

27/12/2019

Mother hides me in the closet.
You won’t go back to that school. I’ll deal with your beloved father.
She smells of lavender perfume and sweat. Not like Dad with his Old Spice, calculated aroma, who mocks Mother. Arranges my future with Headmaster Edgar, Harvard, law.
Men bang at the doors. Buzzwords waft into my musky space: “Custody arrangement,” “legal orders.”
Get bent. Mother’s words hold firmness, edge.
Footsteps draw near, unpleasant pounding.
My mother tells them I’m her son. I’m someone who needs love.
I absorb that word, so foreign, while she fights, words rising.
Love. What beautiful form.

Happy Holidays..., by Amy Friedman

20/12/2019

When I was 3, my brothers and I happily and proudly hung our Christmas stockings, embroidered with our names, on the drawer handles of the living room server. Mother and Father looked on proudly.

When I was 4, I asked Mother if we’d again hang our stockings. "Of course not. We're Jews," she snapped. Didn’t we do it last year? “You dreamt it,” said Mother. “We would never do such a thing.”

When I was 17, my family moved to a new home. As we packed up my brothers’ closet, there lay our loved and long-forgotten stockings.

Not a dream.

A Baby Again, by Tikvah Feinstein

20/12/2019

“I’m so afraid.” The emaciated man whispers, his eyes wildly blinking, hands reaching up from his bed for comfort.

“Don’t worry honey.” His wife, concerned, takes his hands in hers.

“I poisoned my mother.”

“What?”

“I needed the money. Didn’t we live well?”

“Damn!” She pauses: “What if you do return?"

“Who would dare?”

“I know it’s frightening, after what you’ve done, but what if you do return to flesh, growing from a seed deep in the belly of the woman you killed? What if you become a baby again... and only love can save you?”

The Rosenstern Christmas Event, by Mark Tulin

20/12/2019

There was a lot of drama with the Rosenstern family last week but exactly what it is still unclear. According to one member of the family, there’s going to a big Christmas event at an unspecified time. All the spokesperson said was that the event would enlighten everyone in attendance and will be well worth it.

When asked about the specifics of the event, all the spokesperson said was, “you’re going to be very surprised, if not shocked.”

All those who know the Rosenstern family were not surprised by their cryptic nature. In fact, they are quite annoyed by it.

The Red Cape, by Soumi Roy

20/12/2019

A pair of red-gloved hands pulls me out of the car, glass shards scraping my skin.
A siren wails and a red light flashes. As the rattle of stretcher wheels nears, I remember my sister, also lying amid twisted metal and Christmas gifts. I call her name, my mouth filled with snow and copper.

Someone snaps an oxygen mask on my face and loads me into the ambulance. I glimpse my rescuer, sauntering towards my twin, red cape billowing.

Santa turns and nods at me. “Not today. Not for you.”

He vanishes with her.

Misdelivered, by Aisha Wiley

20/12/2019

I’ve dated two male models, which is a feat for someone like me. Trust me, at the time, it perplexed me as much as it vexed everyone watching, but the models were fine with it, mind you. They were both admirable souls. And two in one lifetime? It’s almost unbelievable. Ah well. In the end it played out as this kind of story demands. Deep down, I agreed with society that being with someone so crazy-beautiful was a cosmic joke, like a neighbor’s misdelivered package. A temporary joy, but something to be humbly walked back to the right person.

Three Coins in the Fountain, by Mary Wallace

20/12/2019

It was there when he bought the house. A poor man's Trevi Fountain in the corner of the enclosed back porch. Now, twelve years later, he remembered that moving day.

"No coins!" Lauren had exclaimed, "it wouldn't have hurt them to leave a couple," and she and two friends had tossed their coins with a wish to return…

"Let's get rid of it" his latest suggested, but Bob couldn't. That fountain represented hope. Lauren of the sky blue eyes hadn't returned yet and Bob didn't know which coin was hers.

The Nature of Grace, by Don Tassone

20/12/2019

It’s not that Henry had done anything particularly bad this year. He just hadn’t done anything very good.

He had plenty of chances. He could have been nicer to his sister or shoveled old Mrs. Peterson’s driveway. He simply didn’t make the effort.

So Henry lay in his bed on Christmas Eve, crying because he knew there would be nothing under the tree for him in the morning, that he was undeserving.

He awoke to the laughter of his sister in the family room. As he stepped through the doorway, she cried, “Henry! Look at all the gifts for you!”

Sleep Tight, by Ed N. White

20/12/2019

I was trapped in the window seat on a “redeye” flight from LAX. Everyone was sleeping except me, who was trying, and the idiot in the next seat who was annoying the shit out of me with his non-stop, nonsensical babbling.

“Imagine the guy who makes all those zillion little oat donut-like thingies for the cereal company—boring.”

“What?”

He kept going on and on and on.

I wrapped my scarf around my ears. It didn’t help.

I looked around, and everyone else was soundly sleeping. No attendant was in sight. I unwrapped my paracord key fob and garroted him.

I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus, by Yash Seyedbagheri

20/12/2019

Mama is with Santa on the couch. I’m twelve. There’s a labyrinth of arms and low words, murmured things about tyranny. Domesticity. She smiles. She’s never smiled for me or Dad.

I tell Dad. I can’t think of anything else. There’s something sharp in his eyes. He promises to keep us a family.

They find Santa in a dumpster. Dad goes to jail. Mama laments. Nick was a man of ideas, she says. Someone lonely.

She withdraws into her room, avoids me, flitting about.

I carry the knowledge with me. A family broken apart like glass.

I never snitch again.

Dangerous Dan McGrew and the Mysterious Stranger, by Gordon Lawrie

20/12/2019

The stranger stood in the doorway – ill-fitting hoodie, unkempt beard. The saloon went silent.

"Where's McGrew?" he growled. Someone gasped.

"Who's asking, grandpa?" a black-hatted gunslinger sniggered.

"Sonofagun – you stole the toys!"

"Back to your care home, fatso,"

"Draw," the stranger said. "Shoot, thieving little coward!"

Everyone else hit the floor.

McGrew fired: the lights went out, then another shot. When the lights went up again, McGrew lay dead on the floor.

The stranger patted his stomach. "Fat? – triple-strength Kevlar! Handy stuff." He left, carrying a sack of toys.

Those left behind gazed in wonder. "Who was that red-caped man?"

The Countdown, by Sandra James

20/12/2019

“Only six days to go,” she sighed, thinking about his overbearing relatives who would soon descend on them for Christmas Day.

“No,” he said, ever pedantic and ready to correct her. “You’ll find it’s only five days until Christmas!”

“I wasn’t talking about Christmas,” she thought to herself. “It’s six days until Boxing Day…and then, being a Leap Year, it’s three hundred and sixty-five wonderful days until I have to endure Christmas again.”

The King's Speech, by Bex Gooding

20/12/2019

The low snarling of voices grew louder until it became a roar. The vampire king waited for the noise to subside before proceeding.

‘I command all vampires to flow through the streets and purge this City of the disease that has held us at bay for too long!’

He paused again.

‘KILL THEM ALL!’

Hundreds of voices erupted in jubilation and the fate of thousands of innocent men, women and children was sealed. The demon’s earlier rage at the vampire evaporated replaced by elation, it knew its purpose, chaos and destruction.

The king’s servant fled from the balcony in terror.

Rock-Paper-Scissors, by Yola Caecenary

20/12/2019

There is a conspiracy between the universe and every game I play with my friends. I always become the lost one, or the most behind every time we go with the rock-paper-scissors. Some of the friends say that we do not need to do the rock-paper-scissors anymore with me, just put me the last. I refuse. I ask the universe to grant me, at least, one winning.

Not today, not when we encounter a witch of a sweet house like the one in the Hansel and Gretel who asks one of us to enter. I just want to lose. Rock-paper-scissors…

Shadowed by Mountain, by Christine Emmert

20/12/2019

The mountain's shadow was my shawl keeping me safe from them. I heard their voices, their horses hoofbeats. Yet when it seemed they would find me, the sun came out and blinded them.

The mountain's shadow moved back to hide and comfort me. I was hopeful of the King's reprieve.I was anxious for a life that could exclude love.

Days past. Snows shattered comfort. Still the shadow of the mountain persisted.

When they found me I was already bones. My flesh had been digested into the mountain's shadow. How strange to live a life without a life to live.

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