Blog Posts

Crimson, by S. Anand

11/12/2025

The last rays of a blushing sun fell on her tender cheeks. She cuddled near her father. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Some of them stung like bees.

"See the sky, sweetie? Clad in red like Santa. Soon, he'll open his gift bag, one with the croissant moon... Umm, twinkling sugar sprinkled around."

She forced a smile, the stings were getting sharper. A streak of blood trickled down her thigh. Her ivory skirt turned crimson. "Nothing dear, it's just...", tears welled up in his eyes. Red skies meant another thing entirely to his daughter now on.

"Wish mom were here."

Tree, by Glenn Francis Faelnar

11/12/2025

Tim was knee-deep in snow when he found a glimpse of what he was looking for. His genuine disbelief had, momentarily, frozen him in place, something that the cold air failed to do. He had been walking for, by his count, thirty years. When his brain and body finally unfroze, he began walking again, inching himself closer to what he found. A pine tree. Its body buried in snow with the tip poking out. He took out an ornament, a green star, and placed it on top. And then, at the end of the world, he sang a Christmas song.

A Family Christmas, by Remmie Thomas

11/12/2025

Carl rubbed his hands together and walked up the garden path. Snow was falling, and his sister and brother-in-law’s house was framed by Christmas lights.

The couple welcomed Carl. Inside, he hugged Dad, kissed Mum and they sat down for a family Christmas dinner. There was turkey, Christmas pudding and Christmas crackers with crass jokes.

As they entered the living-room to watch Christmas telly, the message ‘Family Christmas Demo Ended’ flashed before Carl’s eyes. Relieved, he removed his VR headset and glanced about his empty bedsit. Everything was safe, familiar, digital. This was the reality he and his generation craved.

Resolutions, by Caroline Jenner

11/12/2025

Grandad said, since he’d been diagnosed gluten intolerant in September, he’d already given up enough. Mum said she’d try to give up moaning about the price of Grandad’s gluten free food. Dad decided to give up smoking, again! Hoping this time to last more than the two days he’d managed at Lent. My sister Gaby said she was giving up Marmite, which is cheating, because she never liked Marmite in the first place. My family looked at me
.
“Well,” said Gaby, “what’s your New Year’s resolution?”

“Nothing,” I smiled triumphantly. “I’m keeping last year’s -never to make any more resolutions!”

Silence, by Linda Jones

11/12/2025

The number hasn't changed, not in all these years. I wonder if you recall it.

I place my hand on the telephone, it's cold to the touch. How many people still have a landline? Not many I suppose. I did try to get one of those mobiles but without numbers to call I figured it was pointless.

I eat my sandwich, doze in front of the telly, dream of tinsel and presents under the tree and your dad sneaking into the attic to bring down your toys.

Santa he's not real, is he?

The silence of the telephone proves it.

Back in Your Box, by David Lowis

11/12/2025

The house up the road is decorated with flashing lights and inflatables: a bloated, leering Santa; a red-nosed reindeer; an elaborate jack-in-the-box with an opening and closing lid and Jack’s head popping in and out. It’s all a little gaudy, if you ask me.

Yesterday, a police car shot past my window. A handcuffed man was brought out of the house and bundled into the car. Neighbours tell me the son has been taken in by Children’s Services.

The inflatables are still there, but the jack-in-the-box has malfunctioned. The lid is stuck open and Jack’s head now bobs around freely.

Sylvia, by Guy Fletcher

11/12/2025

Matthew watches the Santa lorry drive past to the chorus of excited children. How he envies their innocence!

It has been two weeks since she's been gone and Matthew fears it'll be a lonely bleak Christmas without her. He stares out of the lounge window and the Christmas Eve lights mock his predicament, as a stray tear gently rolls down his cheek.

Suddenly an amazing sight emerges; she has returned and his eyes ignite like the children's. It will not be a lonely Christmas after all, as Sylvia purrs contentedly on his lap. This is his greatest ever Christmas present.

A Bette Life, by Glenda Bailey

11/12/2025

“I wanted purple,” Gordon’s granddaughter pouted when she opened the box containing an expensive pink brand name jacket.
Gordon’s grandson looked up from his cell phone long enough to tear open his gift.
“I don’t ski,” he whined as he threw the snowboard on top of the huge pile under the tree.
Gordon remembered his Christmases with fondness. He would be so excited to receive a homemade toy, an orange, and, maybe, a bit of ribbon candy.
He had worked hard to give his family a better life, but he had to ask himself, “Who really had the better life?”

Reminiscing, by Glenda Bailey

11/12/2025

“The kids will be here soon. Let’s enjoy the calm before the storm,” Martha chuckled as she stoked the fireplace.
“Remember Christmases when the kids were little? We couldn’t afford much, but you always made it fun. You’d tell us, ‘Christmas is a state of mind. It’s what you make of it.’ And we sure made the most of it.”
Martha wiped her eyes.
“It’s nice to have just the two of us right now, though; reminiscing and enjoying the fire. And this year, you’ll get the spot of honor,” Martha said as she patted the urn on the mantle.

The Painting, by Ana Marie Dollano

11/12/2025

The shop window was illuminated by a lamppost that cast a shadowy street into light. A little girl caught sight of toys stacked in perfect rows. Meg stopped, cupped her eyes to the glass. A bright-eyed girl seemed to smile and wave at her from the painting. Suddenly, the doorbell tinkled. No one, just muffled, quick footsteps. Curious, Meg pushed the door open. It turned dark. She spun on her heels. The toys were nowhere! Only the smell of varnish and vanilla. Meg stared outside, startled. The street was empty save for a wide-eyed girl, looking in through the glass.

The Christmas Chaos, by Muhammad Ahmed

11/12/2025

Sparking fires spread through the air and screams engulf the town “Santa has gone nuts!” the townspeople shout. A red box with devil-like deer flying it whooshes past, torches plummeting from the box, with a shadowy figure pulling ropes on the mysterious red box. Suddenly, a shiny, metallic sphere lands on the ground. A man running away bends down to pick it up and then BOOM! Blood flies everywhere and people gasp. The smoke reveals a rotten body with flesh bulging out of the head. I turn around to see a figure with a hood and two glowing red eyes.

Night Magic, by E. Melanie Watt

11/12/2025

Joan locked herself inside her bedroom. Like a casino dealer, she allocated toys into four piles on her single bed. Each pile dealt beside a unique small Christmas stocking.
As she opened the door, her heart raced. No sounds of wakefulness.
Beside the picture of a fireplace the kids had drawn, she left the full stockings with the empty milk glass and cookie plate. She checked the presents under the tree.
With her door ajar to catch any early wanderers, she turned to see the lights of the tree sparkling on the fireplace, and saw the magic they would see.

Conversations with My Dead Husband, by Mary Anne Mc Enery

11/12/2025

“Sugar-skull, guess what? This year I’m leaving Santa’s zip code for Iberia—land of eight-legged hairy tarantulas and pink birds with knobby knees. Where cliffs have century-long arguments with the ocean.”
I'll perch at hotel bars like some exotic bird who's lost its mate, drinking that weird blue poison you loved.
The one that made your tongue look gangrenous.
Cork trees will gossip about our love while I'm busy losing my sanity.
I'll collect grief like seashells, polish them with tears, and make a necklace of memories. Efficient travel plan!
“What else can I do? Stay here counting ceiling cracks?”

Growing Up, by E. Melanie Watt

11/12/2025

Ruth hated sharing her bedroom with her sister Annie, who was half her age. All Annie talked about was Santa. It was annoying. This was the first Christmas that Ruth didn’t believe.

Ruth always thought her parents were honest, but they even lied to Annie on Christmas Eve. “See Annie,” said Mom. “Look way up there.”
Off in the distance, sleigh bells rang. What game were Mom and Dad playing?

“Santa!” yelled Annie, pointing to the sky. “He’s coming Ruthie!”
Stars reflected in Annie’s excited eye’s as she strained to see.

“Yes sweetie,” said Ruth, “because you’ve been so good.”

Not Alone, by Tikvah Feinstein

11/12/2025

He hated leaving her alone in the cage covered for the night.

Until the widower Oliver discovered the healed flesh wounds, he didn’t know how badly his rescue bird’s heart and spirit were broken, only that she’d bitten the feathers off the stumps due to the bird’s anxiety disorder.

Silk had almost forgotten the broken wings she once wore.

One evening Oliver placed the parakeet Freddy, with plush green and yellow feathers, into the cage.

Watching Freddie flap and stretch his, Silk’s apprehension calmed as she began remembering past glorious flights.

Soon after, a celebration as two unexpected eggs hatched.

Drummer Boy, by Ian Willey

11/12/2025

As usual, Michael came without gifts. The cost of the ticket from Dublin to Cork was sufficient, he reasoned. Thomas, his brother, had other concerns. The two sat in front of the Christmas tree, the kids in bed.

‘The doctor gave Brendan six months, tops,’ said Thomas. ‘He needs a new kidney now.’

‘No donors?’

‘Can’t find anyone with his blood type.’ He paused. ‘AB-negative.’

Michael stared into his glass. Empty. Like his life.

‘I’m AB-negative,’ he said.

Thomas straightened. ‘We weren’t going to ask you.’

‘Then I will,’ said Michael.

Michael’s wife came with more brandy. She knocked.

Rum-pum-pum-pum.

Tom, by Michael T. Schaper

10/12/2025

The other children ignore Tom as he makes his way home. No one says hello, and he passes by unnoticed.

The streets are full of melting snow. His house is cold and dark, empty and lonely. Tom has no desire, anymore, to linger there.

So he passes time at the local cemetery, which has much more pleasant company. Usually he visits his parents laying there, and today it’s especially important: time to wish them merry Christmas.

He wonders what the world would be like if they were still alive.

And what it would be like if he were also alive.

Flying Solo, by Janice Siderius

10/12/2025

Susan looked over the wings of the Cessna plane as the ground passed by under her. “I’m doing it! I am soloing!”

There had been moments when she thought she would never make it. Scared to death and on her own with no instructor. But here she was.

“Time to land,” she thought, as she circled back to the airfield.

Five minutes later she rushed from the plane, excited and proud.

“You forgot to put the flaps down on final!” her instructor scowled. “Let’s go to the coffee shop.”

When they entered, the crowd clapped.

The pilot’s license was next.

Rappahannock Carol, by Nick Di Carlo

10/12/2025

Winter 1862 on the banks of the Rappahannock. The most brutal of my life. It had taken months, not the mere days promised to get there. And the promise that war would be honorable, glorious, brief and victorious proved false as well.

Early Christmas morning, fetching water, I saw a Johnny Reb wave from the opposite bank. Hesitantly, I waved back. He shouted something I couldn’t hear. Another Reb arrived beside him, then another.

I called my comrades, and they lined up beside me. We watched the enemy, weaponless, wave and we waved back.

Someone’s voice sang out, “Silent Night….”

My Christmas, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

10/12/2025

As the Christmas festivity peaked, I spotted a barely covered little boy watching us from behind the glass screen, hope flickering in his eyes. I ignored. A moment later, another boy appeared behind him—one who, to my shock, resembled the child I once was. I couldn’t ignore that. Outside, the first boy lay on the frozen ground, the falling snow weaving a white shroud around him. I lifted him and rushed to the nearest hospital. An hour later, my wife called.

“Where’re you? What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m celebrating my best Christmas,” I said, “in a hospital.”

Turkey Farm, by Bill Cox

10/12/2025

It was election time again at Jones Turkey Farm.

Farmer Jones stood for re-election, promising to raise living standards for all turkeys.

“I know that your current accommodation in the barn is drafty and cold. I promise a warm haven for every turkey this Xmas if you vote for me.”

“Don’t vote for him!” exclaimed his opponent, Snowball Turkey. “He wants to put stuffing up our backsides and cook us!”

“Conspiracy theories!” scoffed Farmer Jones.

He was elected again in a landslide. Every turkey did indeed get new, warmer accommodation for Xmas.

Perhaps there’s one in your oven right now!

The Beetle at Christmas, by Adrian McRobb

10/12/2025

Tom had never been away from the farm, he wanted to take something with him to remind him of home and land.

He picked up a large Beetle on his way home, and placed him in a matchbox for safe keeping not forgetting to put an Ash leaf in with him.

They traveled on the train together, Tom occasionally checking on his passenger.

They worked together, moving timber planks and shoring up ditches by the river, using reeds to keep the water out.

As they stood one day the whistles blew, Tom put his jacket on and adjusted his cap...

The Happy, by Myram Huey

10/12/2025

What the world had come to was this: a hundred worthies gathered in the hall to hear the Great Man's address. The address ended to a thunder of applause, and the applause continued, there being no person present willing to be the first to stop clapping. On the applause went. Hands grew sore, arms ached. Ten minutes. Twenty. Forty. Seldom had so much sweat run over so many smiling faces. There were those who clapped and fell to laughing hysterically, tears streaming. So much to celebrate. Some threw themselves through the windows, continued clapping in a shower of glass, happy.

Christmas 1909, by Myram Huey

10/12/2025

'Welcome to Meidling House, palace of losers.' The bluff tone was laced with a sneer, and the speaker, a man known as Big Hoff, was clearly familiar with the place. Unlike the young man standing next to him: a pale creature, long greasy hair, a frizz of beard, his stooped posture tented in a coat several sizes too large for his thin frame.

'But the soup's alright, the bread decent,' Hoff conceded. 'And there's a Christmas tree.'

The young man turned to look at him, blue eyes seeming to blaze. Hoff was amused, said, 'It's Adi, isn't it? Or Dolfi?'

Dominoes, by Jemma Grayburn

10/12/2025

The house of cards missed the jack of spades. Chess was without the knight. The presents were wounded. Snowfaked ash from olive trees in their land, uprooted and set alight, made Ahmad’s nose itch. Baba had left in the darkness on Christmas Eve. Not willingly. They’d dragged him by his beard. Tasked with entertaining himself while Mama and his older brother made rushed phone calls and exchanged spiralling speculations about Baba’s fate, Ayman couldn’t decide what to do. He didn’t feel much like playing.

Finally, he lined up plastic dominos. He carelessly flicked one. They toppled over, one by one.

<<Previous

Forward>>

Crimson, by S. Anand

Tree, by Glenn Francis Faelnar

A Family Christmas, by Remmie Thomas

Resolutions, by Caroline Jenner

Silence, by Linda Jones

Back in Your Box, by David Lowis

Sylvia, by Guy Fletcher

A Bette Life, by Glenda Bailey

Reminiscing, by Glenda Bailey

The Painting, by Ana Marie Dollano

The Christmas Chaos, by Muhammad Ahmed

Night Magic, by E. Melanie Watt

Conversations with My Dead Husband, by Mary Anne Mc Enery

Growing Up, by E. Melanie Watt

Not Alone, by Tikvah Feinstein

Drummer Boy, by Ian Willey

Tom, by Michael T. Schaper

Flying Solo, by Janice Siderius

Rappahannock Carol, by Nick Di Carlo

My Christmas, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

Turkey Farm, by Bill Cox

The Beetle at Christmas, by Adrian McRobb

The Happy, by Myram Huey

Christmas 1909, by Myram Huey

Dominoes, by Jemma Grayburn

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