GET UP!! I awoke by a sound like my wife. BUT? This was not my wife. I awoke to a world where the colors were so vibrant that I squinted my eyes. What was going on? The lady, a doppelgänger of my wife, was getting my clothes from my closet. Why a doppelgänger? The night before, her hair was straight. And? Today her hair was sexy curly. Grasping for what was going on, I started a conversation. The result I ended up being taken to 17 doctors. Why? My reality had changed so much in death into becoming an avatar?
Throat tight, her vocals warm though restricted, her lips poise in preparation but produce no sound.
She looks at the score. Every Italian lyric is seized, intonations and expressions are scattered and lost. She stands behind the heavy velvet smoothness of a curtain that cloaks her from blinding lights, shields her from imminent applause. Still. Beyond that curtain the wooden floor. The cold floor where she is due to stand. Can she step into the dark at this very moment, do her soprano justice? On the stage that faces the audience, can she face all those faces facing her? Around the tenth day, she had started taking photographs of the barriers that had been sprouting up all around the neighbourhood. Don’t park there, follow diversion here. Every day, the rules changed without any apparent rhyme or reason. Getting home from work on the fifteenth day, after driving around in ever-expanding circles for hours, she simply abandoned the car on the corner and clambered upstairs to bed.
In the morning, she opened her bedroom door to be confronted by a length of tattered and torn fencing covered in official heraldry and indecipherable acronyms. NO ENTRY, it insisted – TOP SECRET. It’s my usual pronouncement, “Abracadabra,” followed by the wave of my hand over the brim, then a “voila,” and out comes Miracle, the albino rabbit, from the hat.
The oooohaahhhhoooh from the crowds always makes magic worth doing out on the city sidewalk in the bone-chilling cold at Christmas. “See, Em?” says a small voice. I look to find its owner. A scruffy-haired boy with a weepy girl beside. “If that rabbit can come out of a hat, Santa can come out of our chimney.” She shivers. “Ok. I’ll ask Santa again. Maybe this’ll be the year he comes… ” Christmas Eve, our stockings were hung neatly on dresser knobs. Sleeping with one eye open, I saw Dad tiptoe into our bedroom and fill stockings. He was doing Santa’s work but why? Hadn’t Santa already left the department store and shopping mall? Did Rudolph’s red nose stop glowing?
Suddenly, I thought I caught a glimpse of a sleigh and heard the jingle of bells at a neighbor’s place. We tried to be nice, not naughty kids; Santa should come to our apartment next with gifts, but we had no chimney. How would he arrive? Would Dad let him in? By noon on the second day, the hole gapes three-by-five meters. A three-meter drop to the bottom. Off to one side, the dirt we've removed a shovelful at a time, forty-five cubic meters of torn-up soil, roots and rocks. A monument to the efforts of half a dozen volunteers. We marinate in our own sweat.
We wipe that sweat from our eyes as someone lets the wagon drop its load into the hole. Arms and legs flail, faces too young for blemishes. Two hundred or more. Children in our care. “Please bring a Secret Santa gift. Don’t spend more than three pounds. It’s a bit of fun, not an exorbitant exercise in impressing the boss. Also, wear a Christmas jumper and contribute to the bring-and-share buffet.” Said his secretary.
So, I spent two pounds ninety-nine on a jar of festive chutney. Two pounds on a gift bag, twenty pounds for a jumper and five pounds on a meat platter. I got blind drunk at the party and told the boss what I thought of his economics and fun. I got my P45 the next day. The jumper is warm though. I killed the crew of the Wandering Star, humanity’s last hope.
A desperate mission to find a new home. The ship crashed into this lonesome planet of obsidian. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. But I heard a voice calling me here. A soft whisper in the dark. They called me insane, said I’d gone AWOL. Tried to lock me up. I wandered the surface, guided by the whisper, until I stood in its shadow, a great five-pointed upside-down black star floating high above. I wept when I realized why I’d been led here. The leviathan declaring the end of humanity. After three disrupted years, Elaine hoped her family could celebrate together, albeit on a budget. Strikes dominated the headlines and energy and food prices remained prohibitive.
Ludmilla lived in the basement of her destroyed home without electricity or heating. Both husband and son had died fighting, her daughters and grandchildren were in distant Poland. She would light a candle and pray for the war to end. In the oppressive heat, Alimah sat staring. Famine and conflict had taken her entire family. After trekking for days home was a crowded camp. Would there be any food? Peace on earth. Where? “This can’t be how it ends.”
I swallowed hard and fought back tears. These years had clearly been as hard on her as they had been on me. “Please say something.” She didn’t. I walked out slowly hoping she would come after me. She didn’t. I walked down the sidewalk and stood under her window, hoping she would come and give me a look letting me know she would take me back again. She didn’t. I walked away lost. I had always told her she needed to stand up for herself more, but she never listened. She finally did. A few steps before reaching her house, Beth could not feel her legs anymore. It was freezing. A rusty bus stop was the only thing she saw for a break. She dusted off the snow on the bus top’s bench and sat on it. She felt uneasy on the bench and found a letter. Anonymous letter. Initially, Beth hesitated to read it but the feeling to read struck up.
It’s been a while, darling. I still remember how silly you look trying to build the perfect snowman. Good old days. Merry Christmas, love. “Adorable”, she commented while smiling. On a cold breezy night, Jessica could not sleep a wink. She tossed and turned her body as her mind keeps on wandering. Her face burned red. She stood up and went to the bathroom to wash her face for a refresh.
WHOOOOSSSHHH A gust of wind blows through the window and left it ajar. She ignored it and continued her steps to the bathroom. Then, she turned on the tap water and washed her face with cold ice water. “Jessica…” She heard a whisper. A familiar figure appeared in the mirror. It was her twin smiling at her joyfully. “Adam took a boy to the school dance tonight?” Aunt Irene snarled. “Your son is 16. He’s confused!”
It was a mistake letting Aunt Irene visit, Becky thought. It might be Christmastime. Aunt Irene might be alone. But... “Do they also fornicate?” Aunt Irene asked. “Or are they saving it for their ‘wedding’ night?” The front door opened. “You be nice to Adam,” Becky said quietly, “or else you’ll be spending Christmas alone at Motel 6!” Adam and Caleb, Adam’s boyfriend, came in. Becky thought they made a good couple. She just wished Aunt Irene could see that. Bessie climbed aboard the tram and scanned her pass. She slipped into the last vacant seat, looking around hopefully at her fellow commuters, each one glued to a screen. She looked out the window.
Bessie collected bread, milk, cereal and a bag of rosy apples at the supermarket, scanned her rewards card, listened to the beeps as the items passed over the machine, then tapped her bank card. Bessie put her shopping away, made coffee and turned on the news. ‘The government has announced funding for research into the causes of loneliness in the elderly…’ Bessie switched channels. I met him unexpectedly one night in a dream. He’d invaded my head without asking, but I quickly forgave his lack of manners. You need fun, he said, not a dreary sleep, as he stood amidst the mishmash of my worries: children, work, bills. We chatted and laughed, and then we danced and I was Ginger to his Fred. Waking up the next day, I felt so much better than I had for ages. Later, a frail old man I didn’t know said hello. You can be who you want in dreams, he winked.
‘It wouldn’t be Christmas if we didn’t see all the kids and grandkids,’ Mary sighed.
‘I’m sure we can organise it.’ Joe opened his laptop and began researching maps. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, an hour later. ‘As long as we only stay for thirty-five minutes at each house, and there aren’t any traffic delays, we’ll get to see them all.’ They arrived home just before midnight. ‘We haven’t opened our presents to each other,’ Mary said, but he was already snoring on the couch. She kicked off her shoes and joined him. A rose, deep, dark and red, left behind like a prisoner of words unsaid, a rose that time forgot, still standing alone in the cold frosty Gothic fog, icy rain and snow, the moon at its fullest, the beautiful storm, the thunder as it roars, the moment the lightning tears the sky apart, the quiet sunset. A rose to say I'm sorry I was late, too immature to understand that time simply will not wait; a rose that was black, now a deep dark red, you gave me life and your heart, so I gave you my my arm. A rose.
Snow falls like frozen tears, each a memory drifting aimlessly about, swirling in the wind, piling up in drifts that bring life to a slip-sliding stop.
As night descends on Christmas Eve, ice turns charcoal-black as chasmic-cold fills the half-empty bed where my un-held hand reaches out to grasp the void that once was you. In the morning, Christmas comes as it has always come. And though it is the same and not the same, the manger is not empty, the daylight star still shines, the angel choir still sings “Peace on earth,” and in my memories there is joy. “Finally, Archaeologists have discovered the tomb of St. Nicholas” Ronald exclaimed.
“The Christmas Father’s, really?” Rachel said, in disbelief. Suddenly, little Kenny started crying “Who’ll bring me my gift if he’s dead? I’d asked Uncle Santa for a puppy...” The toddler was inconsolable. The next day morning, Ronald announced cheerfully “And they’ve found Jessica Claus’s house now!”, his eyes still glued to the phone. “You mean Aunt Santa’s?” Asked Rachel. “Yes,” Ronald replied, “Mrs Claus will be coming with gifts this time.” Kenny, listening to his parents, was delighted. That night, he slept peacefully and dreamed of his Labrador Retriever. I’m a meerkat, so I’m clever, though not at the top of the food chain. I wasn’t surprised when my spirit animal assignment ended up being a thug who called himself “The Reaper.”
But he reaped only spirits, passing out at the pub most days. Each morning, I’d say, “Shall we go on a heroic adventure?” He’d drool, muttering something incoherent. One day, a clear-eyed twelve-year-old girl walked into the tavern. She said she was a princess in disguise, on a quest to find her twin brother, who’d been stolen when they were babies. That’s when I applied for reassignment. Ivy was the new kid in town. She knew nobody and wanted nothing but to return to her old town and spend the holidays with her old friends.
“I’m going back for Christmas, and I don’t care what you say.” Ivy’s dad laughed. Ivy stomped out. She walked through the busy streets. “Lost?” a boy asked. Ivy sighed. “I want my old home back, but can’t.” “You’re new too? My name is Robert.” Ivy and Robert spent the whole afternoon together. Her dad asked when Ivy arrived, “Did you return to your old friends?” “No,” Ivy said. “Something even better!” There I sat in the hospital room with my lovely wife of several years. She was lying in bed attached to a heart monitor that had flat-lined. The medical staff had stopped short of using the defibrillator or attaching her to the life-support machine.
As a writer I knew words were powerful but didn’t realize just how powerful as I stared at the tear stained document I was holding in my trembling hands. Everything on the paper was a blur except the top three words in bold print which read….. “ Do Not Resuscitate “. Shaking his head, the janitor swapped ‘lemon fresh’ cleaner for ‘pine forest’. He mopped twice for good measure.
The staff and residents breathed the forbidden Christmas scent. The scent of mutiny. Hearts ablaze, needles flying, cackling grannies knitted. Their knobby hands birthed oversized stockings. Old gents strategized, stroking long, white beards. They reappeared, decked out in red shirts. The ladies clapped. The men ho-ho-ho-ed back. In the kitchen, the microwave whirred. Pop-pop! The receptionists returned with popcorn, string, and a song in their hearts. Moments later, the potted palm sported a garland. Someone dug up a star. Christmas was back. Elsa was useless at spelling. Peter had a tendency to take things literally. Together they led a very interesting life.
This Christmas, as they had very little money, Elsa had put just one thing on her Christmas list knowing Peter, to make her happy, would buy her exactly what she wanted. On Christmas morning though, Elsa was perplexed. In the garden grazed a large deer, and what looked like a rabbit. 'Happy Christmas, darling!’, Peter exclaimed joyfully. 'I do hope you like them - I loved your list saying all you wanted for Christmas was a moose for your hare'! ‘Martin Samuels?’
The CEO normally didn’t pick up his own phone, but his PA was off, and the ringing was getting irritating. ‘Hello? Dottie? It’s Nellie.’ Frowning slightly, Martin responded. ‘Madame, I believe you have the wrong number.’ ‘Oh,’ said Nellie. ‘I was certain this was Dottie’s number.’ She sounded noticeably flustered, almost upset. ‘Are you sure she’s not there?’ Martin stood up, walked to his office door, closed it, and sat back down. ‘I’m sorry, Nellie,’ he said, kindly. ‘Dottie’s not here, but I’m free for a cup of tea and a chat if you’re not doing anything.’ |
"Classic"
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