YWO (Almost) Christmas Writing Contest (Win a copy of SBS Magazine!)(2009)

[Shaun]

Survival By Storytelling Magazine will have its first issue out quite soon. What does that mean? A lot of things! You'll get to see some of the folks you know around these parts in print, and you'll also have the opportunity to buy an issue and support young writers (every sale means royalties!).

To celebrate the release of SBS, we're going to have an official YWO writing contest! The prize? A copy of the first issue of SBS magazine! Free. Shipped to your door!

So, here are the rules:
1. Submit a story of no more than 5,000 words or a poem of no more than 40 lines based on the theme(s) for this contest (see below). Stories/poems may be in any genre or form.
2. You have to have an address I can ship the magazine to (duh).
3. Post your stories here.
4. No excessive gore, sexual content, or vulgar language (you may have some of these things, but keep them reasonable).
5. Only active members of YWO may enter. What is active? You've been here for at least two months by the deadline of the competition and you have been involved at least moderately regularly with the site since that time. This is to prevent some dingbat from randomly joining the site, submitting a story, getting a free book, and leaving. This is a YWO contest and I want a true YWO member to win.
6. Contest is void if the total submission pool is less than eight poems/stories.
7. Submit your stories by December 24th (any time that day, regardless of time zone). That gives you about two months to whip something up and submit!
8. (Not a rule, per se, but whatever) If you buy the first issue of Survival By Storytelling Magazine, but still want to enter the contest, then I will buy you one other book of lesser or equal value in the event that you win. That should make sure that even those who are in the mag and those who don't want to wait to buy it can still win something out of this!

The themes are as follows (you may use these themes literally or as metaphors, or however you like, just so long as you use one of these themes):
--Christmas
--Stained Glass
--Spilled Milk
--Steampunk
--Bitten By Dreams

You only have to choose one theme, but you are welcome to combine multiple themes if you so desire.

Questions can be sent to me via PM or left here. Get writing and spread the word!

[Simmi]

You can count me in. ;D

[Mercy]

I might attempt. ^^;

[Zombified]

If we are already in the mag, don't we get a free issue?

[Nyx]

^Yea, I was wondering the same thing as Zomb.

as for the rest of you YWOians, ENTER THE CONTEST, THE PRIZE IS THE DEFINITION OF AMAZING ^^

[miss_smiley]

:P I'll give it a shot, I think.

[Shaun]

I'm working on making it possible for those in the mag to get a free copy. But you're not in the mag, Zombie. You never returned the signed contract, and I sent two emails about it and prompted you in MSN about it...several people didn't sign the contract, actually, and I had to remove them from the mag as a result.

As for all you saying you'll join in...well, you better!

[Zombified]

Well ain't that a shame.

Oh well.

Maybe I'll get involved with this contest then.

[Shaun]

Sorry, Zomb, but it's a legal thing and I prefer not getting sued even if I don't think I will actually get sued...I prefer not to leave any surprises :P.

But you should definitely get involved in this contest! Seriously!

[Lykaios]

Ooh, sounds interesting. I'll have a go at this after Nano sometime.

[Shaun]

You better, Lykaois!

[jcsk88]

I shall attempt to commit myself to this. No promises, though.

Question: Between now and the deadline, is there any particular section to post submissions in? I was just wondering how the contest stories were going to be disinguished from normal posts.

[Shaun]

No need to distinguish. Just put it where you would put it normally if it weren't for the contest. These aren't being published, so there's no reason not to use the system here :).

Look forward to the submission.

I should also note that this competition is open to ANYONE on YWO, except me. I'm the only one who is not allowed to enter. So mods, admins, general members, etc. You all can enter.

[Jaywing]

Perhaps I will try it out.

[Shaun]

Good. Looking forward to it!

[jcsk88]

Thanks for the reply, Shaun, but correct me if I'm still mistaken: the submission date is strictly on the 24th of December, which means that any story submitted on that day will be considered a submission for this contest.

[Shaun]

Any story submitted on the 24th (anywhere in the world...so long as it's the 24th for you) or before that day will be counted. Anything submitted after will not. You've got about two months to whip something up, though!

[Shaun]

I'd like to add something to this whole thing. Since SBS just came out and many of you both want the magazine and want to enter this contest, I will do the following:

If you buy the first issue of Survival By Storytelling Magazine, but still want to enter the contest, then I will buy you one other book of lesser or equal value in the event that you win. That should make sure that even those who are in the mag and those who don't want to wait can still win something out of this!

That will be added to the original post, but it's here for now. Thanks!

[Rouge]

Put me in there. :devious: I gots an idea.

[Shaun]

You're in!

[Rouge]

Muahahaha, objective one complete.

[Shaun]

I really hope a whole bunch of you turn in something for this contest. This could be a cool thing here on YWO! And if the reception is good, you can expect more contests.

[Rouge]

Do we just PM it to you?

[Shaun]

Post your stories here, Adri. It's in the rules :P

[Rouge]

Oh. Damn. Ha ha. :p
Here, theme being Christmas. There isn't a title.

As we walked down the deserted, ash-covered sidewalk, we held hands and looked at each other with the happiest of expressions. Despite all that had happened—all the chaos—we were still happy just to have each other and to know what day and month it was. We were so fortunate, so very fortunate that we had not been among the chosen to perish.

We stopped and he smiled at me, amber eyes glowing as soft as dim embers in a fireplace. I loved those eyes, I loved his beautiful face and – I just loved his whole persona. He was my everything, cliché as it sounds. His gloved hand squeezed my own and our breath trembled in the still air.

Ever so softly, the pit-pat of rain on ash began to sound through the air. All I could do was smile at him and be thankful we were there, like I was every minute of the day.
He leaned his head down and placed a gentle kiss upon my lips. When he lifted his face up, he was still smiling, and he began to walk away, tugging on my hand so that I would follow. I complied with his hand and followed him wherever he wanted to take me.

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“I know. We’ll be there soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse about two-hundred yards from where we were previously standing. There was a broken window and, from what I could see, ash littered the floor on the inside. My smile faltered a bit as I realized we were to go into the building, just to see what was there. This was his big surprise—one that he’d been talking about for weeks on end, a surprise he almost revealed to me many times because he almost couldn’t resist telling me. I couldn’t hide my disappointment; it was written all over my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s lovely.”

“It’s not what you thought, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well, trust me. It’s great on the inside.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We walked around to the other side of the building where a door stood waiting for us to walk through and desecrate whatever that had been left alone for so many years on the inside. He pushed open the door and pulled me through.

All I could see was ash. No snow, no lights, no life, no nothing. I didn’t see what was so great about this building, but I could tell that he was excited. His smile was wider than I’d ever seen it and his mouth was twitching from excitement. His hand squeezed mine and he leaned his head down for another kiss.

At the far end of the room I could see another door and I wondered if that was what led to the surprise that he’d been longing to show me. I pointed towards it.

“Is that where we’re about to go?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Is that where the surprise is?”

“Yeah, that’s where.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

This time, I led him towards the door and pushed it open. He let go of my hand and motioned for me to go on without him. I did, following the long hallway to a staircase that led the way down. It was dark outside, and therefore dark down the staircase because there was no electricity anywhere anymore.

“Is it safe to go down?”

“Yeah. I’ll follow you in a minute.”

I slowly picked my way down the stairs and at the bottom, I felt around for a door. I found a knob and turned it and was immediately blinded by light. I raised my hand up to shield my eyes, and once adjusted, I gasped.

Inside was a Christmas tree littered with lights and ornaments. I hadn’t seen a Christmas tree for at least ten years and at once the tears began to roll down my face. I fell to my knees and sobbed, wanting him to come down the staircase so that I could hold him and kiss his beautiful face.

He slowly walked down the stairs and when he reached the bottom, he leaned down and began stroking my curls and smoothing it against my back. He raised my chin so that my eyes would meet his and I hugged him and cried on his shoulder.

“Where did you find all of this?”

“It’s a secret.”

“The electricity—how is it here?”

“That’s a secret too.”

“You really do love me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He picked me up off of my feet and told me to go look around the tree, that there was more to it than what I thought. I walked over to the tree and saw that underneath there were packages, presents for me. My hand moved up to my mouth in shock. The tears never stopped falling. I picked up one and asked if I could open it. He nodded.

When I unwrapped the beautiful gold and green package, I pulled out a silver scarf, long and soft as a bird’s breast and rubbed against my cheek. It had been so long since I’d felt something so beautifully soft and I looked at him and mouthed, “thank you.”

I walked around the rest of the room, clutching the scarf to my chest and gasping at the beauty of it all. No wonder he almost told me about it. I don’t know how long it took him to put the whole thing together, but he did and it turned out to be the best gift I’d ever received.

I could hear the rain now, a storm billowing outside. It was raining hard, otherwise I’d never have heard it this far down into the ground.

“Go look over by clock.”

“Where at?”

“Over behind the tree.”

“What’s over there?”

“My favorite part of the surprise.”

Still holding onto the scarf, I walked behind the tree where the Grandfather Clock was and found a tiny box. I gasped.

I knew what it was long before I opened it, and before I did open it I turned to him and smiled my most genuine smile. I gently pried open the lid, like a clam, and found inside of it the most simple, yet gorgeous ring on the planet—probably the only ring now.

“Where did you find this?”

“That’s a secret.”

“My God, how I love you.”

“What do you say?”

“I do.”

He half-ran over to me and threw his arms around my neck, my tears staining his already-dirty sweater and I laughed merrily at the thought of being bound to him like they used to be in the old days. I pulled away from him and got the ring out of the box and handed it to him, allowing him to slip it on my finger.

“Together forever and always.”

“No matter what.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[Emberwood]

I'll go ahead and try it out!
Sounds fun.

[silentspeaker]

I'd love to be in this! Have I been on YWO long enough to enter?

[Mercy]

I'd love to be in this! Have I been on YWO long enough to enter?
Here would be the answer to that question, I suppose:
5. Only active members of YWO may enter. What is active? You've been here for at least two months by the deadline of the competition and you have been involved at least moderately regularly with the site since that time.

[woopdidoodoo]

I can't wait to get started just choosing the theme ^_^

[jcsk88]

I'm halfway through mine. Are we allowed to put the story up in the short stories, members only section to get some crits, then post the final product here?

[Shaun]

Certainly.

[jcsk88]

Great! And thanks!

[Fiction]

I was previously in but have now changed my mind.

[Zombified]

I'm in.

Up against Adrienne AND Majyk?

Lets see if I can come with up with a twisted little X-Mas tale.

[jcsk88]

After some great feedback from none other than my competitors themselves... this is it! Happy holidays everyone! :D



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Santa Claus
Theme: Christmas



“Aaron. Aaron, wake up.” She nudged her older brother’s shoulder, gently at first, then with more force when he didn’t even stir. “Aaron…” Aaron was a heavy sleeper, and she began to wonder if she should pinch him. In the end, she tickled his feet instead.

“Huh?” Finally, he was awake, turning under the blankets to face her. “Alice? Hey, why aren’t you sleeping? Is excitement over Christmas keeping you up?” Aaron stared into his sister’s eyes and saw the joy that resided there. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Actually, I think Santa’s coming through the roof,” she whispered innocently, as if afraid to wake anyone else in the house – or alert Santa that she was out of bed. Aaron had had this conversation with her so many times, his response was almost reflexive.

“Santa’s not real, Alice. Mum and Dad were the ones buying the presents, and we won’t be getting any this year since Dad can’t get a job.” It hurt him to remind her of their present circumstance, but the fact of the matter was, ever since their father had been retrenched at the beginning of the year, it was all their parents could do to simply keep food on the table. Christmas presents were just out of the question, though they had a little celebration planned with half a pound of honey-baked ham. “And I think you meant the chimney, anyways. I’d dread to think how much it’d cost to patch a broken roof.”

“Then what’s that sound coming from the fireplace?” Alice asked, losing none of her childish enthusiasm. The glimmer in her eyes seemed to gain in brightness with the notion of proving her brother wrong.

Aaron threw off the covers and got out of bed, head cocked to the side, ears intent on detecting the sound. Surely his sister was just imagining things. That’s how six-year-old kids are, letting their dreams get the better of them. After all, he’d been as naïve at her age, six years ago today.

At first all he heard was silence, and he moved to hold Alice’s little hand to lead her back to her bedroom. Just as their fingers touched, a scratching sound echoed throughout the house, soft but audible on this quiet winter’s night. Alice gripped his hand more tightly, looking up at him with an expression that said, “I told you so!”

Aaron would have loved to share her levity, but he’d lost some ignorance to the world. He released Alice’s hand and made for the door, grabbing his baseball bat as he did. “I’ll go check,” he told her softly, before turning the doorknob to leave.

“I’ll come with you – “

“No, Alice. You’ll stay right here.” The disappointment on her face was heartbreaking, and Aaron scrambled to find something – anything – that might make her feel better. “I’ll let Santa know you said hi,” he negotiated, hoping it would be enough.

Thankfully, it was. Alice’s mood lifted immediately, the blissful glow returning to her features like radiant sunbeams through storm clouds. The crease between her brow unfurled, and the pout at her lips quickly gave way to the usual cheerful grin.

“And Merry Christmas!” she uttered happily, sweetening the deal.

“Okay, and Merry Christmas.” Those last words left his lips only half-heartedly, as his attention drifted to the very-real possibility of their family being burgled. I should wake Mom and Dad.

Walking along the corridor leading up to the master bedroom, Aaron ventured a furtive peek at the fireplace downstairs. With help from the light of the Christmas tree star, he could make out the form of the midnight intruder, clad in a deep red suit, struggling to dislodge his blubbery bottom from the narrow confines of the chimney. Soot spilled onto the living-room carpet as inch by inch, the fat man pushed through.

Aaron was incredulous! Years after being weaned off his belief in the clandestine giver of gifts, here he was, transfixed by the sight of the bearded legend squeezing into his house. He didn’t notice the slackening of his right-handed grip on the baseball bat. The wooden club slipped free, thudding noisily against the floorboards.

Santa’s head snapped in his direction. At the same time, Aaron heard the door of the master bedroom click open, his father awake and questioning: “What’s going on out there?”

Then –

“Ho!” Aaron was flung forward at the first syllable of Santa’s ridiculous laughter; dragged by an unseen force all the way down the stairs until he lay bruised and bleeding at the large man’s feet.

“Ho!” The door to the master bedroom slammed back shut, and the doorknob blinked from existence, locking both parents in.

“Ho!” Aaron’s bedroom door was flung off its hinges, and from within the room, Alice emerged, unscathed, unafraid, uncomprehending.

Through the world of pain his consciousness had become, Aaron realised too late that this was hardly Santa Claus at all. Even the clothes’ shade of red was wrong. It’s the colour of venous blood… he thought, before succumbing to the darkness.

He knew nothing of Alice stepping over his limp form, zombie-like in her gait as she approached the interloper. He bore no witness to the sack the man produced, which came to life when thrown on the floor, all bulky and formless with fangs at its mouth. He was unaware of his sister being lifted up and fed to the voracious bag.

Mercifully, his concussion lasted through the squelching sounds of young flesh being devoured…

[Iridescence]

I are in. ^^

Gah, Jerry, curse you for having such an amazing story! Diiiiiieeeeeee!:P

My theme won't be Christmas, though, it'll be Bitten by Dreams.

*groans as she looks at competition*

[Mercy]

I are in. ^^

Awesome! :D
I look forward to reading your story.
I'm doing steampunk. :)

[Iridescence]

Awesome! :D
I look forward to reading your story.
I'm doing steampunk. :)

Thanks, and ditto!

*goes to look up steampunk* xD

[Simmi]

I'm planning on doing 'Stained Glass', I have ideas formulating.

[Majyk]

Ooh, that's the one I did, Simmi. I'll be looking forward to see what you come up with. ^^

[jcsk88]

Nice! So many more people joining! Can't wait to read everyone's submissions...

[Simmi]

Ooh, that's the one I did, Simmi. I'll be looking forward to see what you come up with. ^^

Same. I doubt my idea will be better than yours, haha.

[Majyk]

All right, here's my story. The theme is "Stained Glass".



Innocence

A wall of glass materialized in front of the girl. The thin, transparent substance sent her reflection staring back at her, fear contorting the human’s pretty young face. She stepped back from the glass, and her footsteps, shaky and uneven, were loud in the silence that filled the emptiness, echoing forlornly off invisible confines. She was frightened, as she should be.

Only the girl and the glass occupied the room. Other walls seemed nonexistent, the room continuing on into darkness as it was devoured by shadows cast from an unseen light. As she placed more distance between herself and the structure, it began to fade, the already translucent substance dissolving into the still air that hung heavy without movement to stir its particles. Her feet seemed to freeze to the ground as she stared, now at nothing.

Life flickered behind her blue eyes with the beginnings of an idea, but that would soon die, too. Life cannot exist in something other than the living.

She put her idea into action, suddenly striding forwards, her movement gaining momentum, but the glass returned when she was within two feet of it. She stared at it, as if transfixed by its clear surface for the first time, then anger flashed across her face and she stepped closer. It appeared that she was going to try and break through the glass, but instead she reached out a hand, touching its smooth surface. Immediately, she pulled her fingers back, clutching them close to her chest. Her hand had stained the glass with long, streaked distortions of human fingerprints.

Suddenly, something caused her to look around, a sense that she wasn’t alone, but, of course, she wouldn’t be able to see me. Her eyes roamed the darkness for a few moments—but time has little meaning in my world. Realizing her eyes were of no use to her, she spoke. Voices are not commonly heard, and hers was soft and sweet—innocent. She had yet to fully comprehend what had happened to her.

“Who’s there?” Her voice shook on the last syllable, betraying her fear. But I already knew she was afraid. They are always afraid.

“No one is there,” I said. “The only person is you, and you are here.”

“Where’s here?” Her eyes continued to flicker around, but she had moved away from the wall and it had faded into the surrounding darkness, so there was nothing for her to focus on.

When I did not answer, she repeated herself. As if I didn’t hear her the first time. In such silence, it is impossible to ignore the sound of human voices shattering the peace.

“Ask something different,” I told her.

“Where am I? Why am I here?” She either chose to ignore me or had decided that adding another question along with the previous one counted as asking something different.

“Ask something that can be answered.” It wasn’t that I didn’t have the answers, it was that she wasn’t going to get them that easily. Not once had I given that information to anyone, and she would not be any different.

Her head shook in a movement of refusal, and she turned as if she thought she could just walk away from our conversation. I watched her as she made her way across the empty floor. She did not reach any destination, for the space continued on, yet as she took another step, glass shifted into place in front of her. It halted her forward motion for a moment before she decided to try going around it.

It wouldn’t work, but I like watching people attempt the impossible.

Keeping one eye on the clear barrier, she made her way around it. Just as she had almost gotten her thin body adjacent to it, it disappeared. Her mouth opened in a small, soundless display of surprise, and then clamped firmly shut as the wall materialized in front of her once more.

Realization was dawning behind those clear blue irises.

She spun around, hurrying to the opposite side, only to be forced to stop when she was met by the barrier. Wherever she went, she was halted. However she tried to escape, she failed.

“Let me out of here!” she yelled, her fists pounding on the glass. It wasn’t as fragile as it looked, and each time her skin toughed it, it left stains on the glass. She was not completely of this world yet. Eventually, her spirit would mix and marks would not be left.

“I cannot do that.”

“Why not? Why am I here?” Her voice had lost its softness as it teetered on the edge of hysteria. Her innocence was disappearing.

I did not answer. I could have told her, had I wanted to. But I didn’t.

“Let me out of here!” she cried again, beginning to lose her self-control. I could see tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. “Why won’t you let me free? What have I done?”

The girl hadn’t done anything. But that had nothing to do with why she was here. “It is not my decision. But you will be ‘free’ eventually.”

“Then I can go back home?”

I had seen a lot of people in the same position as her, and this part of the conversation was where people’s reactions became increasingly varied. The first few questions were almost always the same—reactions were different, but there were a few common ones. Trying to break through the glass wall imprisoning them seemed popular, as did trying to run fast enough to get past it. What I had never encountered previously was this question. She wanted to go home? She was younger than I’d thought, and now that I looked at her round, pale face, I could see that she wasn’t as old as the usual person to be sent my way.

“No,” I said, the slightest hesitation in my voice. If she was as ignorant and self-absorbed as most human beings were these days, she wouldn’t notice. Then again, she couldn’t be older than ten or eleven in Earth years.

“I can’t go home…” The child’s voice shook, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. “But I’ll be free?”

“Yes.” I almost felt sorry for the girl. Usually the people passing through here were, to say the least, deserving of their circumstances, and it was easy to be emotionless as I watched the horror grow on their faces as they figured out what had happened. But this was the first time I had encountered a child.

“What good is being free if I can’t go home?” Her small arms were wrapped tightly around her thin form as she continued to stare around the darkness, looking for me.

“You will learn to think differently.”

Now the tears came. She sank to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest as she let her tears soak into the fabric of her clothes. And all I could do was watch. I had never seen innocence as pure as hers. Maybe because I had never had a child come to me before—I don’t think adults can have that kind of innocence.

“I want to go home…” she sobbed.

“It is not as bad here as you think,” I said, but my attempt to comfort her failed.

Her sobs grew louder, and the still air was filled with the otherworldly sounds of humans. Earth sounds. So unnatural to me, yet I suppose this is how she felt in my world. Everything about it probably reeked of strangeness.

“I don’t care… I want to go home!”

Was it time to tell her why she couldn’t? Should I tell her what had happened to her? I had never been one to freely hand out information to anyone who came to me, but I felt some pity for the child, despite my usual ease at pushing emotions to a back corner of my mind.

“You cannot…” I said again, for lack of a decision about what I should actually do. I wasn’t usually indecisive, but then again, there wasn’t usually much to be indecisive about. Up until now, I’d just been repeating memorized lines.

The child’s tears began to stop flowing, and she glanced up, maybe wondering if she would be able to see me now, but still she was alone. She stood and began walking, determination on her tear-stained face. She continued moving forward even when the glass wall appeared. The smeared stains of her fingers were still there. When she didn’t stop, I thought she was going to try walking through the glass-like wall.

“You cannot get out of here that way.”

She stopped, facing away from me, and her shoulders lifted, then fell as she took a deep, calming breath. Slowly, she looked around once more, turning in a complete circle before letting go of the idea that she might actually see what I looked like.

“Answer something for me.” Fear had been replaced with resolve to get some kind of information on the situation she found herself in.

“Perhaps.” I only had so much knowledge. As unfortunate as it was, I was only a lowly Guide, there to direct and explain to recently arrived souls what had happened. Was it my fault I seemed to—until now—only get the ones that deserved to be toyed with first? Not all Spirit Guides were as… harsh as me. But, most did not get the kind of people I did. Or maybe they did, I don’t know—Guides don’t converse with each other much.

I could almost see her small form trembling. “Where am I?”

Key question. One she’d asked before, and one I could answer, but usually didn’t. The only enjoyable part about this “job” was listening to the ideas people conjured up to try and explain how they’d gotten here, where exactly “here” was, and who or what I was. Two people had gotten at least within range of the correct answer. One had guessed I was an angel. Another had asked if I was death. Still wrong, but they were headed in the right direction, I suppose.

I decided to give her some leeway. She was only a child, after all, and how much enjoyment can be gained from watching a little girl suffer? I wasn’t that cruel in my search for amusement and something to lighten the weight of this task.

“This is where people come when they leave Earth,” I said. “It is not permanent—you will move on from here. This is only a very short stage in the process that has begun. But I cannot explain the other phases—I do not have that knowledge. What I can tell you is this: You have just forgotten what I am telling you and what you will learn. It will come back to you as you move through the different stages up until the time when you can return to Earth. This happens to everyone,” I added, seeing the fear returning to her face. “It isn’t something to be afraid of. Perhaps the usual human way of looking it is frightening, but with reincarnation—”

“With what?” Well, she obviously wasn’t so scared she couldn’t speak.

“Reincarnation. It means to be born again. The soul can return to earth in a new life—”

“Be born again…?” There were the tears once more, brimming at the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly, I realized what was going on. She had figured out even less than I’d thought. She had missed everything. To her, this could all just be a bad dream. She didn’t understand yet…

“Why?” she said, her voice rising in pitch. But I knew she didn’t have to ask that question. By the way she was staring around and the panic I could hear in her voice, I could tell that she had just figured it out. Her eyes were wide, and her head turned frantically from side to side, pointlessly searching for either me or a way of escape. “I’m not… dead.”

“The only way to get here is to die.”

[Zombified]

My entry.
Theme=Christmas



Frosty the Snowman



I knew from the get go that there was something wrong with that snowman. Just by looking at it, you could see that it wasn’t right. When Jim and I had found it in the canyon across town, I said, “That’s one fucked up snowman.” Jim thought that was the funniest thing he ever heard.

“How can a snowman be fucked up?” he laughed.

“Easy. If it looks like that.”

We both stared at it for a while, despite the freezing cold outside. If you saw this thing, you’d stare too. First of all, this was one big snowman. It must have been about six feet tall, not including the top hat. Most kids in town made these tiny little pathetic excuses for snowmen, but this thing was big. We stood about a yard away from it and no matter how close you got, it still seemed like it was bigger than you.

Its eyes were two big pieces of grayed charcoal. They looked like they had been sitting in someone’s grill for months. For a nose it had the traditional carrot, only this one was withered and browning, like it had been left out in the sun for way too long. It gave off a musky odor that reminded me of a bad vegetable soup. The arms were quite bizarre as well. Instead of the normal twigs or arms made of snow, these were rotted hunks of gnarled old tree branches. At the end of the branches, thick claw-like twigs curled towards the ground, almost as if they wanted to tear the surrounding snow up like a scratching post.

“Look at its scarf,” Jim said. “Think the person who made him shops at Abercrombie and Fitch?”

I looked at the scarf. If the snowman wasn’t so weird, I would have laughed.
Around its neck was a pink and yellow scarf; it almost looked like it belonged on Ryan Seacrest instead of the snowman.

“It doesn’t have a mouth,” I noticed.

“Yeah. Weird. Do most snowmen have mouths?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I can’t remember.”

“Remember the snowman that Jerry built in third grade?”

“Yeah.”

“That snowman had a mouth. Remember, he used ketchup.”

“Oh yeah. I remember now. And Doug Johnson came over and pushed him into it. Made him cry all night.”

“That’s right.”

I smiled a little. The snowman made the effort that much harder. “Those were the days.”

“Amen, brother.”

Neither one of us spoke after that. We just stared at the snowman. It was getting dark. The sun was just beginning to go down over the horizon when we heard the sudden caw of a crow. Both of us jumped a bit and felt our heartbeats quicken.

“Let’s go, dude,” I said. “Fuckin’ thing creeps me out.”


__________

Jim stayed over with me while we watched the football game. We laughed and drank and had a good time, both of us completely forgetting about the strange snowman in the canyon. When the game was over, I paid Jim fifty bucks for my wager on the Patriots and took his berating comments while he counted the money and mocked me.

“You just had to bet on the Patriots, huh?”

“Fucking coach made a bullshit call!” I said.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get when you bet on the most overrated team in the country.”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep sweet-talking me and I’ll keep you here all night.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

We both laughed and discussed the game for another hour or two, then Jim headed home. I looked at the clock on the wall and rubbed my eyes.

Midnight.

Shit.

I shuffled off to my room and got dressed. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.


__________



It was 10 am when I woke up. I spent most of the morning enjoying my day off. Around noon, I gave Jim a call to see if he wanted to grab lunch at Bulls Eye’s Burgers but he didn’t pick up.

Probably still asleep.

I decided to head out on my own. I got dressed and slipped on my boots, then I fed the cat and headed out the door. As the cold air hit me, I stood still and tried to comprehend what I was looking at.

The hell?

Standing in my front lawn was the snowman from the canyon. It wasn’t a recreation or a different snowman with similar features, it was the snowman Jim and I had ran into the day before.

I crossed the yard and walked up to it. I examined it closely and made absolute sure that it was the same snowman. After looking into its dirty charcoal eyes and smelling the nasty odor of the dead carrot, I knew it was the same snowman.

“How the hell did you get here?” I said.

The snowman just looked at me and remained still. Why I expected it to speak, I don’t know.

I went back into the house and called Jim again.

He didn’t answer.

Answer your fucking phone!

I looked out the window at the snowman.

The snowman looked back.

Suddenly, I felt very ill. Like I had eaten a plate full of enchiladas and I was ready to blow. I ran to the bathroom and groaned. As I sat on the toilet, the image of the snowman was embedded in my head. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it out. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to throw up and lie down.

After a few moments, the pain and the image of the snowman dissipated. I finished my business and walked back towards the front door. I looked out the window and saw the snowman still standing there, part of me half expecting him to be gone. I grabbed my phone once again and called Jim.

He answered on the fifth ring.

“Jim? You up?” I knew it was a stupid question but I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Yeah.”

“Dude, the snowman from the canyon, it’s outside my house.”

“What?”

“It’s in my front yard.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit!” I shouted.

“The hell you talking about, man?”

“The snowman! From the canyon. Remember?”

“The weird one?”

“Yes, that one. It’s outside my house.”

Silence.

“Jim?” I wasn’t sure if he was still on the line.

“Did you move it there?”

“No, stupid. Would I be calling you and freaking out like this if I just strolled over to the canyon and dragged that creepy snowman back to my house?”

“Stop yelling. I just woke up.”

“Can you get over here?”

“What for?”

“Goddamnit, Jim! A fucking snowman just popped up in my yard and I want to make sure I ain’t losing my mind, that’s why. Just get over here and tell me that this is the same snowman.”

“You sure the neighbors didn’t make it?”

“For chrissakes, Jim!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be there in ten.”

I put the phone on the kitchen counter and looked at the snowman again. I don’t know why I kept doing that. Something about it just drew me into it.

I walked over into the living room and sat down on my couch. I closed my eyes and wondered if I was dreaming. Surely the snowman outside my house wasn’t the same one from the canyon? There was just no way. The canyon was a few miles away. Why would someone drag that thing all the way to my house? Wouldn’t it have broken apart if someone messed with it? Unless they put it in a truck. But why would someone go through all that trouble?

Maybe it followed me home?

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I had been watching way too many horror movies. As I lay on my couch, my cat jumped onto my lap and fell asleep. I petted him for a few minutes as I waited for Jim to show up. I started thinking about the snowman and how it could have gotten there again. Then I thought about the weird feeling I got when I stared at it. My cat purred loudly in my lap. I kept my eyes closed and within a few minutes, I drifted off to sleep along with him.

__________


It was dark when I woke up. I shook the cat off my lap and looked over at the clock.

5:30 pm.

What the fuck?

I ran to the door and looked out the window. It was dark already. I couldn’t see anything outside. I flicked the porch light switch on but nothing happened. I flicked it again and again and again and still, the light didn’t turn on.

Come on…

I moved into the kitchen looking for a flashlight when I realized that Jim hadn’t shown up.

Shit. Did he come over and knock while I was asleep?

I checked my phone for any missed calls and was dismayed to see that I didn’t have any. I slipped the phone in my front pocket and searched for a flashlight under the sink. When I found one, I checked to make sure it worked and then headed outside. I had to see if the snowman was still there.

The air outside was freezing. It was always cold at night but it seemed especially chilly this night. I turned the flashlight on and crossed the snow covered lawn, hoping against all odds that the snowman was still there.

To my surprise, he was still there. He hadn’t moved an inch. But something was different about him this time. I took a step closer to get a better look when my foot brushed up against something cold and hard. I looked down and pointed the flashlight at the ground to see a snowman’s head face down beside my feet. I crouched down and rolled it over, then recoiled at the sight.

It was the snowman’s head.

He was missing his hat, but it was the snowman’s face alright. The dark, piercing eyes stared at me in an accusing glare. The hairs on my arms stood up straight. My skin became covered in goose bumps.

It wasn’t from the cold.

I looked back at the snowman’s body and slowly raised the flashlight to where the snowman’s head used to be.

Jim’s lifeless eyes stared back at me from beneath the brim of a top hat.

I dropped the flashlight.

Darkness surrounded me.

Then I screamed.

[Shaun]

K, folks, we have 4 entries thus far and we could do with a few more! Tell people to submit!

[Majyk]

Jcsk and I have been. I think we've gotten four more people planning to write stories for this.

[jcsk88]

Jcsk and I have been. I think we've gotten four more people planning to write stories for this.

Yes, we can expect a couple of good stories coming up. :)

[Rouge]

Iridescence should be posting hers soon--I mean, it was in the short stories section for critiques. ^^

[Mercy]

Mine's in the works. :) It should be here in the next few days.

[Iridescence]

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear. ;) Here's mine. The theme is Bitten by Dreams.


"Haya-cumbayeh, makomo-cumbayeh!"

I wait, my eyes half-closed, knobby knees folded tight into my body. My skin tingles from the pure sensation wafting around me, curiously gentle, yet electric, suffused with energy. The hairs on my arms stand straight up. I tremble.

"Haya-cumbayeh," bellows the malik arana, the Nether-Guide of our tribe. Her enormous, calloused brown hands cup my chin and lift my face. Fierce, glowing eyes gaze into mine, and I feel my stomach lurch, the charged air snagging at the hair that tumbles down over my bare shoulders.

"You are ready?" whispers the malik. Her breath is rank and sweet, all at once, like kumberries left to rot in the sun. I resist another shudder and press my hand to my forehead, where a small tattoo is embedded in my skin. The symbol of my tribe, the Yarrai.

"I...I am."

"I sense your fear." The malik grins gleefully, showing me the pure white teeth that contrast sharply with her brown, wrinkled face. "Do you want your people to see you quake?"

I am aware of the ring of tribes-people behind me. Ma and Da are among them, cradling baby Anja in their arms, watching. All of them—silent, still. Yet even in the stifling quiet, I can sense the galvanized waves of anticipation that billow from their moist tan skins, curling around me. I am drunk on the heady scents of incense and tumultuous feeling.

“N-no, malik.”

The malik hands me a bundle of cloth, softer than any material I have ever felt. It is as if she has plucked a bit of cloud from the boundless sky, weaving it into an iridescent blanket that shimmers secretly, like moonlight dancing on pond water. I lift the sacred cloak, holding it delicately by its upper corners, and shake it gently. Smooth, luscious bands of color race across the gossamer fabric.

“Wrap it about your shoulders, child,” the malik commands me. “As you do it, speak your name.”

I do as she says, murmuring, “Kana.”

“Arise, Kana.”

I do. My knees shake. I wear only a thin sheath of cloth around my torso and legs, and my knees are bare and scabby.

The cliff shelf looms over us, and far below the outcropping, the ravenous, dark-gray ocean slams itself against the rocky shore, roaring its displeasure. Only the fire and the heavily fragrant smoke warms me, keeping the chill of fear from seeping into my bones.

The malik turns to the wall of the cliff behind her. Upon it, ancient drawings are engraved, flickering vividly in the firelight. The malik touches a picture of a Dream-creature with her thick, scarred fingers. The creature, its outline blurred with time, starts to shimmer. The other Dream-creatures follow suit, glittering deep blue, becoming conscious.

“Awaken, Creatures of the Netherworld,” the malik bellows, throwing up her arms, her fur-lined robe and hair billowing in the unnatural wind that has sprung up around us. “Open the portal to the Realm of Dreams!”

The glowing drawings begin to swirl around and around, faster and faster, making a circle of symbols that coalesce into one round band of light. I press my hands together and bow my head reverently, though within myself I am screaming. Oh, Amah, Lord of the Nether, spare me today…

A hot blast of wind slams into me as the portal completes itself, making my cloak wave wildly behind me. It is a perfect circle, outlined by glowing blue, its essence black as my pupils. I am breathing fast now, my heart doing its own ceremonial dance in my chest, my lips silently pleading with Amah to let me live.

“Step forward,” the malik thunders. “The Nether awaits you. If you perish in your meeting with Him, your body and soul will drift, forever, in the shadows of His Realm.” She smiles again, and the firelight slants across her face, turning her smile into a gruesome leer. “That is, if you are lucky. If He does not accept you as the new Bearer of Dreams, your spirit will be enslaved for all eternity.”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the brief, hastily cut-off gasps behind me. The reaction is instinctive, automatic. They all know what could happen.

Anja cries shrilly, “Kana oka-yeh! No leave, no leave!” I hear Ma swiftly silence her with a small slap that echoes in the outcropping. It is against the ancient laws for one to look back at their people as they enter the Nether, but my body is aching to disobey. Oh, Anja.

I take a step forward. Coils of ghostly mist curl out from the portal, wrapping around my thin body, inviting me in. I breathe deeply and fight down my repulsion. You must be strong. Be brave. Bring honor to the tribe.

I walk right up to the portal. Is that the soft, hissing laughter of the nether-creatures beyond? Fear crawls up and down my arms like little insects. O Amah, what am I doing here?

“Kana.” The malik comes to stand next to me. I cannot look at her, so I stare straight ahead, into the belly of the portal.

“Yes, malik?”

“Do not show cowardice before Him.” Her warm breath on my ear makes my fingers twitch convulsively. “He is a crooked One. He will try to trick you, make you doubt your purpose, who you are. He will only accept the most strong of heart. If you fail, your punishment will be worse than you could ever imagine. Beware, child. And remember—your tribe stands with you.”

“Th-thank you, malik.”

If I perished, her words would be empty. If I was lost in the Nether, I would instantly be forgotten. It would be as if I had never existed.

Do not think like that!

I take another step and tentatively raise my hand to touch the obsidian-colored portal. Odd—it feels like some kind of gelatinous liquid, cool and viscous, rippling gently at my mortal touch. Faces swim into existence just beyond the portal—pale, amorphous faces whose expressions I cannot decipher. The mist curls more firmly around me. It has me now.

“Amah, bless me,” I whisper, steeling myself. The last thing I hear before I step in completely, immersing myself, is Anja’s cry.

“Kana! No leave me!”




Shhhhh….

Whispering, everywhere. Soft rushes of air. I stand on nothing. Well, that is not entirely true—I feel something hard and cool beneath my feet, yet my senses tell me it doesn't truly exist. I suppose it is my mind, creating a foundation for me to stand upon. In this Realm, such things—creating matter from thought—are possible.

There is smoky blackness all around me, my hair lifting and rising as though I am underwater. The cloak is still about my shoulders, glowing softly, the only source of light in this forbidding, hollow realm. I clutch it to me, desperate for something from my own world. It’s so cold—my breath steams from my slightly parted lips.

“H-hello?” I whisper. The darkness sucks up my words so swiftly; it is as if I’d never spoken.

“Be silent,” hisses something to my left. I whip my head to the side, my heart pounding.

Fiery-red beings prowl around me, some on two feet, some on four. Some of them seem to have more than four limbs. They resemble the glowing embers of a fire, shaped into humanoid or animal-like creatures. Some seem both human and animal, a fascinating yet terrible union. Their eyes are piercing, bloody-red coals, focused on me. I bow my head hurriedly, staring down at the empty space below.

“Greetings, nether-spirits,” I say as loudly as I can, hoping my voice does not tremble. “I mean no disrespect.”

“You are a foolish girl,” says one of the nether-spirits, its voice high and sharp, like a shard of ice. “Turn back. Leave this place. Mortals are not welcome here.”

“I am here to see Omanjii, Maker of Dreams. I wish to be Bearer. By the ancient laws, you must let me see Him.” To my surprise, my voice is strong, my tone confident and proud. It’s as if it is not I speaking, but some other Kana—one with more bravado.

One of the nether-creatures rasps, “You have sealed your fate, small one.”

The dark space begins to rumble, the sound of a roiling thunderstorm, a looming tidal wave, a beast's furious roar. I stumble forward and fall to my knees, my hands curling into fists beneath me. The cloak almost slips off my shoulders, but I pull it closed around me with one hand. I can feel the place shifting, changing.

Something powerful, horrible, has entered this darkness.

Remember your strength!

“So.” The single word is spoken by a voice so deep, so terrible, that my entire body revolts at the sound. It is a voice to shatter the earth, to destroy one’s will completely. Only the reassuring warmth of the cloak and the memory of the malik’s warning keeps me from collapsing in fear. “They have sent me another puny meal for my sustenance? Pathetic.”

I do not dare raise my eyes to see this newcomer. “G-greetings, Omanjii.”

“What? My meal speaks?” Horrible, echoing laughter fills my ears, pounding against my eardrums. My heart stumbles weakly against my ribcage.

Around us, the nether-spirits giggle nastily.

“I—I am not a meal, O Maker. I am here to—”

“Look at me when you speak, whelp. Are you such a coward that you cannot look upon the face of your lord?”

Oh, Amah, no.

Terror fills me, and for a minute I cannot move. The cloak pulses comfortingly around my shoulders.

Come on, Kana. You can do it. Just look up.

I raise my gaze slowly—and freeze.

Two enormous eyes stare back at me, narrowed with mirth. The whites are tinted red. The irises, too, are crimson. The pupils are so dark and all-consuming that for a short, terrifying moment, my soul seems to rise from my body and waft toward them. I clutch the cloak tighter and manage to call myself back.

Do not lose yourself. You are all you have left.

As I stare up at the eyes, they disappear for a split second. He is blinking.

Then they open again—and I gasp. Tears flood my eyes.

“Anja!” I choke, pressing a hand to my mouth in a vain attempt to bar the wave of cries that clusters at my lips.

Anja’s wide, innocent brown eyes stare back at me, the corners turned up in a
radiant smile. Even though they are enormous, I imagine that I can feel my baby sister’s love washing over me, imploring me to return home. I reach up, longing, and the eyes glow invitingly.

Then my hand closes into a fist.

“Please, return to your true form, Omanjii. Stop this torture,” I whisper, though it tears my heart to watch Anja’s beautiful eyes disappear.

A moment later, the eyes return, though they are not the horrid red ones. These are pure black, like shiny obsidian stones, cold as winter.

“Your heart is weak,” Omanjii says, His voice low, full of malice. “I see your soul. It trembles in your feeble body. You are worthless—too worthless to even be called mortal. Your entire being is fear.”

I open my mouth to protest, but no sound comes. Omanjii laughs again, his terrible amusement slamming into me like a great, hot wind. Tears bead in my eyes again, but I blink them back.

Show no weakness.

“Omanjii, I wish to be the Bearer of Dreams.” I begin the ancient plea, staring up into His eyes. They are changing constantly now, each time He blinks. Ma’s eyes—Pa’s eyes—the malik’s eyes—they all glare down at me scathingly. “I—I wish to ferry mortal dreams back and forth between the Nether and the human world.”

“What makes you think you know the way of Dreams?” hisses Omanjii coldly. His eyes blink again—now they are those of a cat, green with thin, slitted pupils in their centers. I repress a shudder—I hate cats. They are evil creatures. Demons live in their eyes.


The huge cat-eyes narrow. “Dreams are powerful, eternal things—how could one such as you, one so insignificant and powerless, even attempt to bear them?”

I swallow hard, but my voice is firm. “It is my destiny, Omanjii.”

“Destiny?”

For a second, everything becomes still. My heart stops, then starts again, faster than ever.

“DESTINY?”

Anger rolls out from the huge eyes, which are scarlet again—and blazing with fury. I gasp and fall back on my rear, scrambling to get away from the flames that lick out at me from the glowing irises. One tendril of fire snags my ankle, pulling me closer.

“No, no!” I scream. Oh, Amah, it burns! “Please, Omanjii, stop!”

The nether-creatures cackle with glee, creeping closer to feed off of my pain and terror.

“Listen to me, you foolish little creature,” snarls Omanjii. Now His eyes are my own eyes—wide and dark brown, my pupils tiny. Filled to the brim with fear.

“Do you know what I am? I am all your nightmares. I am that shadow in the corner of your mind, the place where all your evil, selfish thoughts dwell. I am that chilling whisper of wind that makes your heart beat faster in the night.”

The eyes—my eyes—seem to be filled with fire. I see myself in them. Cowering, terrified.

“I could rip your soul from your body and wring it out like an old bit of cloth,” Omanjii whispers ruthlessly.

The snakes of flame curl around me, hugging my shoulders as if they are old friends. The cloak begins to smolder. I can only shake silently. Only the cloak protects my skin from the fire's wrath. If it is destroyed...

“You thought you could come here and persuade me to let you become the Bearer? Well, you have failed, little Kana.” Omanjii’s voice lowers to a whisper, and His—no, my eyes crinkle at the corners in a sweet smile. “But do not worry. Your demise will not be swift. I will draw it out, bit by bit, and you will feel everything…”

The fire turns black, grasping my shoulders like clawed hands. My cloak smolders faster, the beautiful cloth curling in the heat, the fabric igniting. No—no—if the cloak is destroyed, I am doomed.

Omanjii’s eyes crinkle with malicious glee. The nether-creatures circle faster, shrieking with delight.

I close my eyes tight. I’m sorry, malik. I have failed.

“You have proven your weakness. Now perish, little fool. You are no Bearer.”

Deep in the abyss of pain, I hear a tiny voice calling me. "No leave, Kana! No leave!"

I grit my teeth.

Anja. I must return to Anja. She told me not to leave her. And I won’t.

“Lord,” hisses one of the nether-creatures. “Lord, the cloak. It is no longer burning.”

Omanjii’s fire tightens around my shoulders, but the cloak's glow returns, the delicate cloth healing itself before my eyes. Seeing it brings strength to my limbs once more. I press my hands against the nonexistent ground and push myself up, forcing myself to stand.

“What are you doing?” roars Omanjii. “Kneel, girl!”

“No,” I whisper hoarsely, wiping my eyes with my arm. “I promised someone I would return home.”

“Your promises are worth nothing. You are worth nothing.”

His words cut me like blades, but I shake my head. “You are the Maker of Dreams. It is your nature to deceive and shift, to create illusions.” I shrug off the fire, and it falls away, melting into the surrounding darkness. The cloak is not really burning at all; it glows just as brightly as it always has. “But without a Bearer to carry the Dreams through the portal, you are worth nothing.” I manage a small smile, though my entire being is quaking. “You need me.”

Omanjii’s eyes flicker a thousand different shapes, so fast that I cannot make out any of them. Finally, they settle on their original form—bloody red, narrowed with malice.

“I ought to let my children tear you apart.” The eyes flicker to the nether-creatures around me, who tense as though they are about to spring.

I stare up at Him and say nothing, clutching my cloak. This is it.

“Hold out your hand,” Omanjii hisses, the evil eyes narrowing further.

I swallow hard and raise my right hand, palm up, the other hand clutching the cloak closed against my neck.

“You ask to be the Bearer of Dreams,” Omanjii rumbles. The nether-creatures hiss in unison, crimson eyes narrowed in anticipation. I say nothing; either a grisly fate or a radiant reward awaits me. There is nothing left to do except wait. “Well, child, there is one thing that your malik did not tell you. Dreams are malicious, scathing things. Prepare yourself.”

From the darkness behind Omanjii, wispy, silvery-blue beings flow toward me—the Dreams. They have shapeless mouths, but no eyes or noses, or true bodies. But I can feel their consciousness as palpably as I can feel my own. They all settle around me, softly brushing their cool essences against my outstretched hand. I don’t look directly at them—they are so powerful that they could burn my eyes from their sockets easily.

The cloak suddenly seems to stiffen against my shoulders, then it disintegrates, dissipating into the darkness. I cry out in alarm, but one of the silvery beings comes forward and seeps into my mouth like a cold cream, down my throat and into my chest, cutting off the scream. The others crowd closer, clinging to my skin with fingerless hands.

Even though the Dreams are clouding my vision, I can still hear Omanjii’s booming voice: “I shall enjoy your pain, little Kana.” He laughs coldly.

As one, the Dreams’ formless mouths clamp down on my skin. The Dream inside me shifts, then I feel a terrible, excruciating pain from within my chest that makes me scream in agony. They are sinking their teeth into my very soul.

“No, no—what are they doing to me?”

Omanjii laughs again. “They are welcoming the new Bearer of Dreams.”

[Emberwood]

Mine will be up here shortly.
Sorry it's so late!
^-^

[miss_smiley]

Ok! And here goes nothing! :P My theme is just plain ol' Christmas. ^^ Be warned, it's got a 3,960 word count.


SECOND CHILDHOOD


The light glows red behind her closed eyes, kissing her skin, as she smiles up at the sun.

It’s here again! She giggles to herself, wrapping her arms about her thin shoulders. And there’ll be gingerbread and family and friends and presents and...

“Lily! Lily, love, you’ll need to come out of the sun. We wouldn’t want you getting sunburnt, now.”

Her shoulders slumped forward, Lily moves back into the shade of the porch, away from her garden and the lovely flowers that call to her in the morning with their bright yellow bells. She smiles at the woman, one of the first of her family to arrive. Lily had gone with Madison and Luke that very morning to pick her up, riding in the backseat of the car, happily watching people walk along the sidewalks together as they drove past.

The woman smiles back at Lily. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow, Lily?”

Lily nods excitedly. “Oh, yes!” What was her name again? Joy? Joyce? It was a happy-sounding name, that’s what Lily remembered. Luke had told her in the car, but Lily had been too busy delighting in watching an older couple stroll by holding hands. Lily had learned that things like that were too rare in this time. Far too rare to be distracted by a name.

“Alexis gets here tomorrow, isn’t that right?”

Lily nods again, her smile spreading like sunshine. Alexis was one of Lily’s best, best friends and had been since pre-school began. “She does! It’s going to be a lot of fun. We’re going to make dolls, did you know?”

The woman grins. “Really? That’s wonderful. How are you going to do that?”

“Well, we’re going to get some wool, and then—”

“Lily! Are you there?”

Lily looks up, her wide, pale blue eyes catching sight of Luke. “I am.”

Luke smiles at her. “Good. I was wondering if you’d like to help us with the decorations?”

She grins, caught up in Christmas. “Can I?”

“Luke, that’s not the wisest...” The woman gives Luke a significant look.

Luke just frowns at her. “It’s Lily’s Christmas, too.”

“Yes, but look at her! She’s not in a fit state to—”

“Then she can give directions. Come on, Lils. You show us where to put the things and you can see to the Christmas tree.”

The grin comes back, joy shining from her face as she takes Luke’s arm, letting him guide her back into the house.

The smell of gingerbread wafts through the house like a distinguished lady, robed in air and the warm, dry breeze of the oven. It stops near Lily long enough for her to catch the scent, long enough for her to smell the molasses once more. The farm-girl in her screams out again, longing to be back where she once lived in what seems like a lifetime ago. An old rickety shed...the cane paddocks in summer, ready for the burning season...

And Alexis...and Albie. Albie Birmings. Lily smiles to herself, remembering the three of them together, lying in the endlessly green paddocks, grinning and laughing up at the sky, a trio of friends, bound together tighter than any ring or braid.

Sadness dusts on Lily’s face for a moment as she pauses, locked in that fragment of memory. She doesn’t see Albie anymore, apart from the photo that sits upon her duchess in the corner of her old, dark room.

“Are you ok?” Luke peers into her eyes, stooping to look carefully at the pale, shallow depths.

Lily smiles at him, brightness flaring again as the eyes lose their cloud of memory. “Yes. Now where’s that Christmas tree?”

Luke flashes a quick smile at her, leading her into the living room.

Oh! It almost looks like a ballroom! Lily gasps in delight, her hands finding her mouth.

“Luke! It’s lovely!”

Luke just beams at her.

“And is that the...”

“Christmas tree?” Another woman, Laura, smiles over at her, a small child attached to her leg. “Indeed it is. We thought Harrison might like to help you with it.”

The child peeks around Laura’s leg, big eyes staring timidly out at Lily.
Lily smiles and reaches out a hand for him. “Hello, Harrison. Would you like to help me?”
He blinks at her and hides his face in his mother’s trouser leg.

Laura laughs at him, drawing him around to cuddle him. “Don’t you want to help Lily, Harry?”
Harry nods up at her, all eyes and ears for his mother. “Yeth.”

“So why don’t you go help her, hmm?”

“Becauth...”

“Because why?”

He hides his face, a little smile forming. “Becauth I’m shy...”

Lily laughs, watching the little boy as his mother smiles down at him, bemused. Her fingers twitch at his waist and he laughs, writhing against the restraints of her arms. “Mum!”

“You go help Lily, my big boy.”
“Ok!” He launches himself over at Lily, stopping short about half a metre from her and looking up at her, his teeth snagging on his lower lip. “Hello...”
Lily smiles. “Hello. Shall we decorate the tree?”
The little boy’s eyes light up, his head nodding fervently. “Uh-huh.”

She gives him her hand and together, they go to the tree, standing bare in the corner of the room. Lily smiles to herself, remembering Christmases past, the relatives swarming about, laughter and smiles filling the room.

The best Christmas decorations.

She glances down at Harrison as he stares up at the big tree, his eyes sizing it up.

“It’s a big tree, isn’t it?”
He nods solemnly. “Yeth. Will we...will we... can we make it pretty all by ourthelveth?”
“Oh, yes. But we’d better get started.” Lily glances up at the clock. “Luke?”
“Yes?”
“Where are the decorations?”
“Oh! Just over here. Sorry. I forgot to move them.”
Lily smiles. “That’s fine. Here, Harrison, let’s get some decorations to put on the tree.”

Harrison relinquishes her hand and goes to the box, rummaging through the bright baubles. He comes across a green, sparkly one and, with a cry of delight, runs back to the tree, hastening to put it on a bough.
She smiles, watching him.

“Come on, Lily! We’ve got to dec...decor...” He frowns at the big word. “Decorthtate the tree!”

Lily laughs. “Ok, then.” Looking down into the box, her eyes catch upon an old, clear bauble. She lifts it out of the box, smiling at the red heart that sits passively in the middle. Turning it upside down, she reads the inscription again.

Dearest Lily. Forever yours.

Fingers caress the blank spot that once held the name of the writer. She smiles gently, gazing down at it, the heart imparting its own message to her again.

Tenderly, she hangs the bauble upon the tree. Forever mine.
She stands, smiling happily at the bauble, reminiscing and wishing to herself.

“Hey, Lily! Look! There’s a thnowman one!”

***

Lily wakes with a start. It’s Christmas! I can feel it!

A smile lights on her face as she pushes the covers back. Slowly and painfully, she rises from her bed, taking Albie’s photo in her hands, and moving to the window. Pushing back the curtains, Lily sighs happily.

There. There’s the sunrise. See, Albie?
Photo frame in hand, she watches the sunrise with Albie, just like every other Christmas.

Sadness touches her. Of course, every other time, he was...here.

She glances at the empty spot beside her. Albie...I miss you.
“Lily?”
She turns, catching sight of the woman...

Joyce?

...that she had met earlier, the day before. “Yes, Joyce?”
“It’s Joy. What are you doing up? It’s barely sunrise.”
“Sorry.” Lily smiles, then adds, “I always watch the sunrise.”
“You need your sleep, Lily.”
Lily frowns at her. “I’ve watched the sunrise every Christmas before, Joy.”
Joy looks doubtful. “Well...that may be the case. But every other Christmas—”
“I’m fine. Really.”

“Well...”
“Really, Joy. I won’t even make a sound.” Lily presses her finger to her lips and nods.
Joy frowns at her. “That’s what I’m afraid of...” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Lily smiles to herself. Her family had been like this ever since the operation. It just showed that they cared.
“See, Albie? I’m being looked after.”
So much love in this house...

She takes a seat on the wide ledge of the window, specially built so she could sit there. A small dip allows room for her to take the familiar spot, eyes on the rising sun.

You never know which one’s going to be your last one...Oh!
A brilliant red toys its way into the sunrise.

‘Red at morning, shepherd’s warning’. It must be going to rain...

Lily had always loved the rain, loved the way it splashed and splattered upon the tin roof and sounded like a million people clapping. And the smell! It smelled like Life, Lily thought.

Albie had loved the rain, too... Lily thinks to herself, looking down at the photo before clutching it to her chest. Yes. He had loved the rain.

Eventually, the sun appears, rising perfectly into the sky, not one cloud in sight before its bright gaze.

Lily laughs. Maybe the old saying is a little off... She glances at the clock. It’s almost seven now... I should go down for breakfast.
She goes to put the photo frame back upon the duchess.

She stops.

Will I... She runs her fingers over Albie’s face tenderly, I think I may take him with me... After all, this is the first Christmas he’s...
She swallows, tears coming to her eyes, threatening to overwhelm her. Stop that, Lily! He doesn’t want your tears.

She gazes back at the familiar face. Yes. I will take him with me.
She smiles down at the photo fondly and leaves the room, tucking the photo neatly under her arm.

Still smiling, she slowly makes her way down the stairs, moving painfully, each movement a smashing reminder of the operation, driving the point home.

She arrives at the kitchen, victorious in her battle against the stairs, catching Luke and Madison snuggling in the kitchen.
They look up, startled, springing away from each other as Lily watches in amusement.

“Merry Christmas, Lily!” Madison grins at her, her arms engulfing Lily easily, before moving back to rest in Luke’s arms once more.
Lily grins back. “And you too, Madison. Where is everybody?”
Madison laughs. “They’re on their way. Ten o’clock, remember? It’s not even seven yet!”
Lily chuckles. “Ok, then.”

“Do you want some pancakes for breakfast, too?” Luke smiles at her over the top of Madison’s head.
Lily nods excitedly. “Yes, please.”
“Do you want to go sit down, love?” Luke asks, looking down at Madison.
She smiles contentedly up at him. “I will.” She drops a kiss upon his lips, her eyes full of him, as Lily watches, a small smile upon her face.

“Come on, Lily. We’ll leave the kitchen work to Luke. You know how he gets.”
Lily laughs and follows her into the dining room, grinning as she eyes the decorations once more.
It’s beautiful. Everything is beautiful.

Madison smiles at her, watching Lily as she stands, admiring the room. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!”
A grin. “Good. Luke worked very hard.”
Lily smiles. “I know. And it is beautiful.”

Madison grins again and ushers her into a seat. “Here. You sit at the head of the table.”
“No.” Lily stops, looking up at Madison. “That’s Luke’s spot now.”
“Nonsense! He’s quite content to sit next to me. You sit up there.”

Lily frowns, but takes the seat, listening to it creak as she sits. It’s an old chair, inherited from her great-grandfather and almost two centuries old now. She looks expectantly up at Madison, waiting for her to sit down beside her.

Madison frowns down at the table. “He must have forgotten to set it up...”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, I’ll be right back. Luke’s forgotten to put out the forks and knives.” She laughs. “That man... he forgets the smallest things...I’ll be right back, Lily.”
She makes her way back into the kitchen quickly.

Lily smiles again, her gaze transferring to the table.

Wait a... She frowns, bemusedly. Here are the forks... I’d best tell Madi—No. She laughs to herself. That was her plan.

She giggles to herself at the table, hearing sounds from the kitchen and knowing full well that Madison was definitely not doing anything to do with gathering cutlery.
“Ah, dear,” she sighs to herself, looking down at her photo. “Once upon a time, Albie...”

She frowns, a moment’s hesitation hitching at her mind. Then, she places the photo up on the table beside her. “You sit right beside me, Albie. I feel uncomfortable sitting here in great-granddaddy’s chair.”

The photo seems to beam only for her as Albie’s brown eyes grin up at her. She smiles back, a soft smile that tugs at her lips gently, and gazes at the photo, memories playing behind those pale eyes.

“Dearest Lily. Forever yours. That’s what it says.”

“...really?”

A smile. “Yes.”

A pause, lit by the fire and the flashing lights of the Christmas tree.

Then, “Do you mean it?”

“Forever?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.” Warm arms wrap about her. “Forever.”

“Ok! Pancakes!”

Lily, snapped from her memory, looks up, an absent smile toying with her lips. “Hmmm?”
Luke grins at her, a tray of pancakes clutched easily in his hands. “Pancakes!” he explains easily, in a single word.
Madison follows in short wake of him, smiling sheepishly. “Apparently, the knives and forks are right beside you, Lily. I must have missed them.”

Lily smiles knowingly at her, a twinkle in her eyes, as Luke sets the tray down before her, taking the seat to the right of Lily. “All’s well, Maddie. Let’s eat. I’m famished!”
Lily laughs, and takes a few pancakes for herself. “Do we have any syrup?”
“Oh!” Madison rises from her seat. “That’s what’s missing!”
She rushes from the room before either Lily or Luke can stop her, their protests falling upon deaf ears.

Luke chuckles as Lily shakes her head slowly. “Ah, nothing stops her...”
Lily smiles up at him. “She’s lovely.”
Luke smiles back. “I know.” He sighs happily, leaning back in his chair. “Forever...”

Lily’s smile wears a little as she nods. “Forever.”

***

Lily stirs restlessly by the door, fidgeting with her dress. They’ll be here any moment! A smile turns her lips, excitement rushing to her eyes. The whole family!

“Lily!” Another relative stoops to kiss Lily’s cheek. “How wonderful to see you! How are you?”
“I’m marvellous!”

She laughs, and Lily admires how the even the smiling eyes join along. “That’s marvellous, then. We’ll just go in and get set up, is that ok?”
Lily nods excitedly. “Luke says I should go in, too...”

“Luke is probably right.” The voice is familiar and abrupt.

Lily starts, turning. “I know that voice!” Her eyes light up. “Alexis! You came early!”

Her friend grins back at her. “And I see you’re as happy and light-hearted as always, Lily.”
“Always! It’s Christmas!”
Alexis smiles. “Yes, you were always fond of parties...”
“It’s not—”
“‘—the party. It’s the people there!’ Yes, dear. I know.” Alexis grins, removing her glasses to wipe them clean on her blouse.

Lily smiles at her. “You know me far too well. Shall we go in?”
“Well, Luke said so, didn’t he?” Alexis chuckles. “How does it feel to role-reverse, Lily?”
“Odd,” Lily replies automatically, laughing, as she leads Alexis into the room. Oh, this is going to be a marvellous afternoon!

“Lily! You look lovely!”

“There you are, Lily. How has your Christmas been?”

“Lily! Hey, Lily!”

She beams, caught up in the attention and the love that bounces about the room, dizzying her with its heady scent. She guides Alexis up to the head of the table, seating her beside the big wooden chair.

Alexis frowns, turning the photo frame over in her hand. “Lily...”
“I know.”
Alexis’s eyes find her own, pools of concern and worry. Sorrow rings from them, louder than any Christmas bell. “It must be hard.”
Lily nods. “It is.”

“Lily! How are you? We’re about to start the dinner, so you may want to sit down.”
Lily starts, smiling at the teenager. “I’m wonderful, Toby. How are you?” She takes her great-grandfather’s seat once more.
The girl smiles down at her. “I’m wonderful, too.”

***

Lily settles herself beneath the tree, sitting in the dark, velvet shade of the night.

Albie... You are here, aren’t you? Wasn’t the room beautiful? Luke did a wonderful job, didn’t he? She smiles. He’s a good man...

She stares up at the sky, watching the cotton dregs of clouds drift by in the night. And he’s married now, Albie! How...how...

Odd. Lily frowns to herself. I don’t feel that old...

The frown deepens for a moment. So much time has passed... It really does fly, doesn’t it?

...

I feel...tired, Albie. I don’t want to be here anymore.

I miss you. A tear. I miss you terribly.

Her gaze drops to the bauble she holds in her hands, kidnapped from the Christmas tree, tracing over the inscription, remembering how Albie had made it himself, how he had smiled at her delight, choosing the perfect red for it, the perfect rounded edge...

Forever. You said forever, Albie. Are you still mine, even now that you’re beyond my reach?

She rests against the tree trunk, letting her body sink into the wood. Forever yours... I was always yours, you know. Were you always mine?

I remember...I remember...

Her eyes are too heavy, the eyelids weighing down as if precious metal was tied upon the edges. Slowly, inexorably, they drift down, her eyelashes kissing her cheeks. I remember everything.

Scenes flash before her eyes, so fast that they blur into one. Albie...

His face dances before her eyes, burned into the back of her eyelids, inescapable. He smiles at her, the blue sky bright beyond his figure. “Lily?”

She smiles up at him lazily, eyes half-closed against the sun. “Mmmm?”
“Isn’t it time to go home, darling?”

Something jumps within her at that word. She loves that word from his lips. She sighs contentedly, drawing in the sweet, sweet air. “Soon, my love.”

He smiles at her, dropping a kiss on her sunburnt forehead. “Soon it is, then.”

The memories speed up. A run in the park. Dancing on the beach together as the sun rises.

“You are beautiful.”

“My gem.”

“Forever yours. That’s what it says.”

Another tear slips down her face. Oh, Albie. I miss you.
One memory drifts to mind.

“I won’t let you die, Albie. You’re going to live, damn it!”
“Lily...”
“No! What am I going to do without you, huh?”
“Lily...”
“I can’t...I can’t...” Tears fall as silence takes her argument.
“Lily, my love.” He takes her hand as he lies in the hospital bed. “You and I...we’ll see each other on the other side. It’s just a small lapse in time, is all.”

The wind sweeps at Lily’s hair as she drifts to sleep in the shade of the night, leaning against the old tree.

She runs through the park, laughing, her new skirt twirling about her legs playfully as she ducks from the rain. Gasping, she leans against the old fir tree, the only shelter for at least five-hundred meters.

“Oh, Albie! Next time, we’ll have to pack an umbrella! Maybe even three!”
Albie laughs at her, his breath ragged as he stops under the boughs. “Perhaps! Oh, God. I haven’t run that far in...”
“Five years?” Lily laughs, her voice filling the air about them as the rain pours down. She peers out into the rain. “Where did Lessie get to?”

He frowns, hands on his knees as he regains his breath. “Hmmm. I’m not sure. Maybe she spotted another tree?”
Lily chuckles at him. “Possible. She always did find the better spots, I must admit. And this wasn’t my greatest idea.” She laughs at herself. “I should have listened to Grandma.”

“Hmm?”
“Oh, she said something about a red sky this morning and how we’d get a downpour or something.”
“Ah,” Albie laughs. “Red at morning is shepherd’s warning.”
“Yes! That’s the one!”

He straightens, smiling. “You should have said something...”
Lily smiles up at him. Suddenly, he seems closer...

He looks down at her. “Uh...”

The smile wears away into tentative nothing as she gazes up, her eyes full of him. “Albie?”
“Hmm?” His hand finds her jaw-line, warm and dry against the cold-numbed skin, wet from the rain.

“We...”

He rubs his thumb back and forth across her cheek gently, staring at her, looking straight into her eyes.

“...we should find...”
“Hmmm?”
“Alexis...”
“Oh,” he says quietly, a smile hitching one side of his mouth up. “Soon.”
He draws her to him, gentle and firm, and presses his lips to hers.

Lily smiles in her sleep, as the rain-drops begin to patter about her, falling through the leaves like so many tears.

***

“Lily?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you awake?”

A laugh. “Would I have replied if I wasn’t?”

She can hear the smile in his voice. “I suppose not...”

She laughs quietly. “What is it, my love?”

A silence.

Lily frowns, almost looking up to see if he’s still awake.
“Do you love me?”

Lily half-smiles to herself, a little confused by this question. “Of course I do.”

“Really?”

“Completely.”

“Would you die for me?”

“I would.”

“Would you...live for me?”

Lily laughs. “Aren’t I already?”

“Hmm.” A short chuckle. “I suppose so.”

Another pause.

“Would you...would you...” A pause. “Marry me?”

She stares up at him, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
He looks down at her, all mirth fleeing from his eyes.

A small smile from her.
“Yes. I will.”

***

“Mum! Mum!” Luke checks for a pulse, his mother’s body cold beneath his touch. “Mum! Madison, call someone! Quick!”
She dashes into the house.

“Mum! C’mon, Mum! Wake up!”

No pulse. No breathing.

Luke slumps, lifting Lily’s cold body from beneath the tree, resting her head against his chest. “Madison!”

“What on earth?” Alexis runs from the house, caught up in her morning robe, white hair flapping loose from its bun. “Lily? Lily!”

“She’s...” His mouth sags. “She’s...”

“Smiling.” Alexis looks down upon her best friend’s face, distant and numb. “She’s smiling.”

[Zombified]

Maybe putting it in spoiler tags would help...

[miss_smiley]

Whoops...!
Ta. Have done.

[Lykaios]

Nearly finished it . . . *writes quickly*

Will post it soonish. xD

[Emberwood]

I would've liked to edit this more, although I am short on time. This is for a Christmas theme, although it's light. I was planning on expanding it more, but I ran out of room. I'm not exactly good at writing short stories... they're never short. :D

Word Count: 4080

The Story of Annabelle Wess

I have wings. I know it’s weird. I’ve been like this my entire life—when my mom saw me for the first time, she fainted. My dad wanted to throw me into a dumpster and pretend that I never existed. My mom was very surprised that he wanted to do such a violent thing; she wanted to keep me and to raise me like a normal kid. That included school, chores, and eventually flying lessons.

That’s right; my mom finally saw the need for flying lessons when I was tangled up in the ceiling fan. It took her an hour to get me down. I took flying lessons when I was seven and my wings were about three feet long. It took me about six months to get lessons because my mom had a hard time finding someone. She met with someone that could teach birds to fly again once they were injured and asked him to teach me. He fainted the first time he saw me, too. When he woke up, we had a civil conversation and he agreed to try to teach me. It worked out pretty well; turns out, my wings aren’t all that different than a bird’s.

They increased in size year-by-year. I am now seventeen. Ten years later and they’re about twice as long as my arms. Needless to say, I’m homeschooled. I don’t think I could live in a public school—they’d shoot me, thinking I was a bird. That’s the worst they could do, but the ridiculing that would no doubt come would be much harder to deal with.

Socially, I’m very secluded. I made really good friends with my trainer. We still have lessons every once in a while and he’s kind of like a second dad to me. His name is Ricky. Our lessons usually start with a warm up for my arms and then I concentrate on moving the movement I’m doing with my arms to my wings. It’s very frustrating at times, but once I have my wings moving, it’s easy to keep going. After that, I’m flying around, trying to control my speed and the control over my body.

Flying feels amazing. When I’m up in the air, I feel like I could do anything. I’ve been flying outside twice in my lifetime and I’ve never felt so free. Both times it was dark outside, but it was still funny to see Ricky and my mom panicking. It was entertaining because I knew I was safe and they knew it, too. They just didn’t want to admit it. Flying outside is better than in the gym at Ricky’s school. He’s actually a teacher and he trains birds at a shelter on the side. He’s a very busy guy, so I’m glad he made room in his schedule to help me out.

The worst thing about having wings is when they have to retract. When they’re fanned out they feel like guards and the weight is spread out, but when they’re retracted they feel like a heavy backpack with bricks weighing it down. Luckily, I don’t have to retract very often—my parents gave me their master bedroom and they moved into my room, which isn’t small. The house is actually very spacious, so I don’t have to do much.

Today I have a meeting with Ricky and he didn’t look very relaxed. He seemed very stiff and scared. I wonder what he wants… it’s not like him to be worried, so that worries me a little bit. I’m not going to stress over it, though. It’s a waste of time to stress over something you can’t control.

“Hurry up, Annie!”

I rolled my eyes and slipped my wings into my shirt. My mom and dad had to cut holes for my wings as I grew up, so I’ve never worn a shirt in one piece before.

“I’m coming.” I finally answered. I walked out of my room and my mom nodded with satisfaction.

“You look like a piece of heaven.” She complimented.

I laughed lightly and blushed. “Thanks mom.”

I took a glance in the mirror before following my mom out the door. I put on a black tank top with a salmon-colored-pink vest over it. I wore dark blue jeans with sneakers. I couldn’t forget my hat—it’s great. I think it’s called a fedora… although, I call it the tippy hat because it has a flattened out top while the rest of the brim is curved up, and so it looks tippy. My short, leafy cut complimented the style of the hat.

“Stop admiring and let’s go,” my mom said, laughing.

I sighed and pushed my hat further onto my head and closed the door behind me.

“Good luck!” I glanced over at dad, whom was hunched over. He was supposed to fix the sprinkler system two weeks ago, so naturally he’s out here on this fine Saturday morning doing what should’ve been done weeks ago.

I blew him a kiss and thanked him before going into the car. I retracted my wings to fit into the car and sighed. Sitting isn’t as bad as standing with retracted wings. I was lucky that everybody in my neighborhood got up around twelve or I would’ve been made fun of. I remembered when I was little kids from around the block was pull on my wings, which at that time looked like fairy wings. It hurt very badly to have my wings tugged on. I imagine it’s close to the impact of someone kneeing a guy. Of course, nobody would even guess that it hurt that badly. My parents didn’t even know it really bothered me until I was ten. That’s when I grew a backbone and decided to stand up for myself. Before then, I was a coward kid.

“You look thoughtful this morning.”

I smiled at her comment and sighed. “Music?” I asked.

She chuckled and turned on a CD. I groaned and looked out the window. I hated her music choices—she’s a country girl and I’m a rock girl.

“Fine,” she said with a smirk. “But this is only because you’re going to be at war with Ricky soon.”

She popped a Rise Against CD into the player. I rocked out to the music until we pulled up to the school. The high school was big and empty on Saturdays. We pulled to the back of campus, where the gym was. Ricky was pacing back and forth in front of the door. A sudden wave of nervousness swept over me and then it was gone as I got out of the car. I walked up the door and he waved to my mom before she sped off.

“We have to talk,” he said with bulgy eyes.

He was a little taller than me with short black hair and a tan complexion. His eyes were always a little “pop-out-of-your-head,” but today they were like bug eyes.

“I have a message,” he said after he locked all of the doors and shut the blinds and windows that required a ladder to reach.

He sat down on the bleachers and I scratched my head. “Well?”

When I sat down next to him, he looked through his knees at the ground. After licking his lips, he looked up at me with a sincere tinge of worry in his hardened eyes. “Look, Annie. This is… more than you and me. Okay, I thought that maybe this kind of thing would happen, but I had no idea that you would actually be posed with this decision.”

“What decision? What kind of thing happened, Ricky?”

I felt like shaking him by the shoulders until the entire story came out in one breath—simple and clean.

“Annabelle Wess… you are not just some kid born with wings. You’re not like those kids who were born with gills or webbed feet. You are an angel.”

My face dropped. My eyes stung with frustration as I got up from the bleachers. “Are you telling me that I am God’s messenger?” When his eyes darted back to the floor lying beneath his feet, I walked to the far end of the gym and yelled. “Look, I don’t even know if God is really out there! Every teen my age has sudden worries about his or her faith. Now, I am just supposed to drop everything I have here to do God’s bidding? Is that what you’re telling me?”

I ran a few steps, bending my knees in a lung and pushing from my calves in a jump that would bring me up in the air. Within seconds I was hovering above Ricky, my wings flapping second-naturally. I used to have to concentrate so hard to get them pumping, but now, it’s just like walking.

“Annabelle. I’m not saying that God gave me this message.”

“Who did?” I said, floating back to the ground. I let my wings stretch out after flight and sat back down next to him. “Who gave you a message and what is it exactly?”

He licked his lips again. “You have to understand something, Annabelle. Superhuman creatures, like you, aren’t supposed to dwell with humans. They aren’t supposed to be in the same world with humans. You’re supposed to be somewhere else with other… angels.”

“I am seriously an angel?” I asked in honest disbelief.

“Yes. That is what he told me.”

“He? Who is he and what exactly did he tell you?”

“He told me that it was imperative for you to listen to your dreams lately. You have something to save. His exact words were, ‘You have to save something that was once held dear by many people; this cultural experience has gone bad. You must be the one to save it.’ He was very specific and repeated it about a thousand times.”

“This… <i>something</i> is a cultural experience? Does this guy mean a tradition? Is it even in my town?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know. It’s important; that’s all I know.”

“Who is he?”

“Annie, if I tell you who he is, you must not treat him any differently than you would right this instant. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I do understand.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I was walking to my car after school a few days ago and a mist came in front of me. It was very sudden, but I assumed it was fog. You know, we get a lot of that around here, but it was still daylight, so I thought it was a bit strange. Nevertheless, I got into my car and started to back out into this mist, when it solidifies and I slammed on my brakes. I got out of my car to yell at this person who snuck up on me when it was so foggy, but when I saw his body, I knew something wasn’t right.

“He had large wings, a little big bigger than yours, with long silver hair. The only reason I knew it was a guy was because he wore a tight shirt and it became obvious what his sex was. He told me that he was your brother and he didn’t have the courage to come to you himself. He also told me to give you that message. Obviously, I was scared out of my wits and I memorized the message before sprinting back to my car and driving away as fast as legally possible.”

I gulped. “Brother?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know any details so don’t ask me any questions. I just told you all that I know.”

My jaw clenched. I had a brother all of this time—he’s exactly like me. I’ve felt so alone all of these years and he <i>never</i> once made himself known to me. That coward! I slammed my fist into my leg and inhaled. When I exhaled, I propelled myself off of the bleachers, hitting Ricky harshly on the arm with one of my wings. He rubbed the inflicted spot and yelled, “Hey!” at me, but I don’t really care.

I bounced from wall to wall and slammed myself into shatter-proof windows to release the anger. After several minutes of infliction, Ricky told me that it was okay and that he left contact information.

I glared at him and floated to the floor, snatching a card he had in his hand and leaving the gym, not caring who saw me with my wings outstretched and fanned open. Although there was nobody around to see, I wish there was so I could flip them off for staring.

My mom was waiting in a parking space outside and I retracted my wings and pushed the card into her chest. “I have a brother.”

---

Ricky and I spent about two hours total on the phone for the last few days. We were discussing the smartness of going over to my brother’s house. The card said that he lived across the pond, but if I’m not even supposed to be here, why is he? Was this a temporary settlement or was this a place where he lived permanently?

Either way, Ricky and I agreed on a few things regarding seeing him. Ricky agreed that I could meet him alone under three conditions: that I don’t lose my temper; that I seem friendly and nice; and that I don’t bring up our family conditions. I agreed because I was going to go into his house, ask for an English translation of his message and leave.

“What are you going to say to him when you walk in?” Ricky prompted as we drove over to the complex.

“Hi?” I said with a twisted smile. Although, I really don’t know what I’m going to say—it needs to be fluent and professional; this is not a family matter.

“Think of something wise. Think of something that will impress him.”

I sighed and leaned on the handle in the door, staring out the window. My stomach fled, leaving butterflies pounding on my insides. I close my eyes and say, “Mister…”

I froze. Do I use my last name?

“His last name is Wess,” Ricky said slowly.

I opened my eyes and looked at the trees. “Mister Wess, I am Annabelle. You left a card and a message with my trainer and I am looking for answers.”

I glanced over at Ricky and he nodded in approval. “Very good; that will do.”

When we pulled into the parking structure, I looked for a door number and it said “R.” I cocked my head at the letter and Ricky held up one finger—it took me a while to notice that he was pointing upward. He was pointing to the roof.

I dashed up the stairs, avoiding odd looks. Weirdly enough, the few people that saw me weren’t surprised at all. Looks like Mister Wess comes around a lot. I shivered when a gust of wind pushed me back slightly when I reached the roof. It was huge and had a single recliner chair with a small end table. The end table had a stereo and an opened bottle of beer on it. I rolled my eyes and looked around. No sign of a dude with wings.

I took a deep breath and walked further out, wishing I had brought a jacket. I crossed my arms and looked at the clouds when I saw a white track around the cloud. My eyes narrowed as I searched for the jet, but instead I saw what looked like a fly, but as I looked longer, it got bigger and bigger at an abnormally fast rate. I saw short blond hair fluttering behind a face with big, blue eyes and an award-winning smile. He wore baggy clothes that seemed like they would fall off with him flying at that kind of speed. <i>His wings were much larger than mine</i>, I concluded as he got close enough to see the individual feathers.

He landed and his hair settled onto his shoulder, barely covering his ears. I licked my lips and discovered that my introduction sentence disappeared. Instead I decided to say, “Hi.”

“Hey, little sis!” he said with a huge, welcoming smile. He ran over to me at a speed that I could never reach and had me on the ground in what was supposed to be a hug in less than a second.

“Um… hi,” I repeated pathetically.

He chuckled and helped me up. “Sorry… I get a little over excited.”

“I noticed,” I whispered, straightening my clothes out.

“So, my name is Lyle. I am twenty years old and I need your help.”

I held my breath, trying to keep my promise to Ricky, but finding it hard not to bring up our familial bonds.

“What about when I needed you?” I asked shyly.

“I’ve been watching over you and you seemed great with that Ricky dude,” he said with a nudge in the arm.

“I’m serious.” My tone was harsher than it probably should’ve been, but I hope it got the point across. “I thought I was alone all of this time. People made fun of me and they threw things at me. They called me a freak for buying fake wings and wearing them after Halloween,” I muttered, looking down. I removed a piece of hair that flew into my mouth as a gust of wind passed us. “I wish they weren’t real.”

“Why would you wish a thing like that? Flying is the best! Humans want flight so much that they invented machines that would take them up into the air because they didn’t have wings. We do! We should be thankful for our gift!”

I gulped and looked down. “I’m not allowed to fly anywhere but the gym.”

He laughed and shook his head. “That’s not right…”

“That’s what Ricky did. If you had swooped down from this complex and trained me… then maybe I would see it your way. Right now, it feels like a curse.”

“Would you just help me and stop with the guilt trip?” He begged.

I sighed and crossed my arms tighter. “Why should I?”

“Because this is about Christmas; this is bigger than you or me!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my eyes narrowing in skepticism.

“I mean the Great One—“

“The <i>Great One</i>?” I laughed. “You mean God?”

He shrugged. “Never met him. I don’t know if he’s God or not. All I know is that I serve him and you do too, although… he doesn’t know you exist because you live down here.”

I chuckled and said, “And you don’t?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Why would I here? It’s a big slate of ground with a chair and a table. I live in a suite in the clouds. We angels call it ‘Cloud Nine.’”

I chuckled and licked my lips. “Why don’t I live up there?”

“Nobody knows about you.”

I looked down and sighed.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just say you’ll help me.”

“I’ll help you,” I muttered angrily.

“Good.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked harshly.

“The Great One is saying that the humans down here are taking the wrong perception of Christmas. The humans are destroying the holiday. They think it’s about getting gifts and being selfish. They think it’s about the food and the gorging. The angels have been put on a mission this holiday season to reset the human nature. We’ve been doing this for three weeks. In three days, if the human nature isn’t reset, Christmas will disappear as it once was and… the holidays will be over.”

“Why do you need me? You have angels and angels up on Cloud Nine.”

“Well,” he said with an awkward smile as he scratches his head. “We’re not doing too well…”

“Oh… I get it. You need my help because you’re failing.”

“Pretty much…”

“I’ll help. What do I have to do?”

“It’s easy really—there are just too many humans for fifteen angels to cover.”

“Fifteen? There are only fifteen angels?”

“Well, my wife is bringing another into this world so there will be sixteen soon.”

“Wow,” I muttered. I would think there was more than that.

He chuckled and said, “You reset human nature by letting humans see you. Just two laps around a neighborhood should do the trick. You can cover maybe two neighborhoods and we’ll cover the rest. Sound good?”

I nodded. “In daylight?”

He chuckled. “Well of course! I’m not going to let my little sister going around in the dark!”

I grinned and hugged him before running down the stairs and jumping into the car with Ricky in the driver’s seat.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m on a mission—and I have a big brother!”

He sighed and clicked his tongue. “I told you not to discuss family issues.”

I shrugged and licked my lips. “He brought it on himself.”

“Annabelle…”

“Don’t start, Ricky. I’m on a mission to save Christmas.”

He laughed and I told him the entire story. When I finished he said, “Well, the angels got it right. The holiday is definitely getting heavy isn’t it?”

I smiled and nodded. “It is and I have to stop it.”

“Good luck.”

---

“You can’t do that!” My mom screamed.

“I have to,” I muttered as I fanned my wings out. My mom pushed them down with both hands, but found that my wings were too heavy and big. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I have to do this. It’s for the holiday season.”

“What’s this going to do?” she said harshly through her teeth. “How is showing yourself to a hundred people going to stop the greed of the holidays?”

I shrugged and truthfully had no answer, but I had to do it. I really didn’t have a choice. “Trust me.”

Those were the last words I gave my mom before I died.

I flew up into the sky. It was the best feeling in the world. The sun danced on my cheeks and warmed my hair. I flew low to ensure that people could see me. They gathered outside; some were screaming and pointing in bewilderment and some were smirking as if to say, “I knew it.” As I flew, I could feel a light bulb go off in many people’s heads. They’re seeing an angel. Different people take it different ways, but I found out something. I realized why I had to fly in front of all of these people in order to save Christmas. When a human sees an angel, the response varies of course, but commonly, they’re in awe. The spirit of Christmas resides in angels—we are icons for holy beings. When they lay our eyes on us, their priorities come flooding back to them.

It was a surprise to me when a sharp pain split into my side. I looked down and saw red gushing out of a hole. I looked down as I started to spiral, my wings failing. I saw a man with a huge smile on his face with a gun, which he was slowly lowering as I fell. I thumped onto the ground and then I closed my eyes.

I don’t know what the killer did with my body, but I hope it had done him well. I now have a seat on Cloud Nine with my fellow angels. My mom is still in really bad shape, but I send her flowers every once in a while. When I do, she stands outside and thanks me. She’s knows that I’m watching out for her.

[Majyk]

Awesome! It looks like we'll actually have enough people!

[mary]

Here's mine - the theme is Spilled Milk, and it's approximately 3,100 words. I hope I did this post correctly - I just copied and pasted my story into this box.

I also already have a copy of the SBS mag, since I had a book review in there.



Redemption
By Mary E. Mann
“We found redemption in the very places we hurt most.”
- Lin Jensen

The snowflakes fell slowly, drifting down in the relative obscurity of a grey dusk. Some were caught by the headlights of passing cars, the wheels of which kicked up the flakes into a small furious dance. It was a moment of glory before their eventual melding into hard-pack, and then slush when the salt trucks came by in the morning.
Lily stood on the corner, watching the flakes fall while she waited for Gunner. Gunner was her roommate’s dog, a morose-looking beagle, who was thoroughly inspecting a spindly tree before lifting his leg. The flakes drifted onto Lily’s dark hair, escaping from beneath a thick wool hat. They stuck in her eyelashes, and melted onto her plaid wool skirt. She tamped the snow down beneath her boots and shivered, rubbing her gloved hands together. The only exposed part of her body was her face, pale and pink-cheeked.
She looked up, her eyes catching a snowflake as it drifted down in front of the streetlight, illuminated for a brief moment.
“Nice night,” said a man’s voice behind her, deep and familiar.
She shivered, imperceptibly, and not because of the cold. The cold, suddenly, was no longer noticeable. She could feel her heart pounding painfully against her ribcage, which now felt like a vise.
“Alex?” She turned to face him, her face the only part of her that could be identified in a line-up, “Alex Feinstein?”
The man’s stepped back. He was tall and thin, although not as thin as Lily remembered. His eyes widened behind his wire-framed glasses. His hands were stuck deep in the pockets of the thick canvas jacket he wore, but his head was bare.
“Yeah, shit, hey Lily. I didn’t realize…” he ran a hand through his curling dark hair, “I thought you were just some girl with a dog.”
“I am, sort of,” she smiled.
“You weren’t surprised to see me?” He stepped just a foot closer, his footfall muffled by the snow.
“I figured I’d run into you someday, especially once I moved here,” she was looking at Alex, but felt the strain of the leash as Gunner tried to move to the next tree.
“What are you doing here?” He said it so bluntly that she laughed, and he smiled slightly.
“Listen, it’s cold, and Gunner, this is Gunner, by the way, he has to finish his walk. How long are you here for?” She asked, not answering his question, watching the snow gather on his tousled hair, how the tops of his ears had turned pink.
“Just a few days. It’s an alumni booster thing, for the hockey team,” his voice rasped, and he cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet, thin legs in corduroy. She remembered, when they’d been together, he hadn’t owned a pair of jeans. She wondered if he still didn’t.
“God, alumni. That makes me feel old,” she laughed again. She knew that she looked older than she had when he’d last seen her, her cheeks thinned, her chin stronger. She may have been taller, even. She felt taller.
“Anyway, how about getting a quick drink?” She continued, “If you have time tonight, that is. I was almost home, so I can just drop Gunner off.”
“Sure, yeah, that’s fine,” his voice was strong now, his tone a studied nonchalance.
“Walk with me?” She asked.
“Sure, right around the corner?”
“Yeah, not far.”
They walked in pregnant silence for a few moments, both of them looking around at the falling snow, the muffled earth, Gunner and his fiercely jangling tags, snuffing the ground. Lily snuck a look at Alex, and caught him looking at her. They both looked away.
“Where are you living now?” She asked, as they ascended the stone steps up to the old house, entering the dry, musty air of a communal stairway.
“In New York – Brooklyn, actually,” he answered, following her up the stairs and looking around him.
“Oh, that must be great! New York City,” she drew out the words like sucking on candy, “I’d like to spend some time there.”
“Ever been?” He asked, his hand on the banister as she turned at the top floor. She fumbled with the key in her gloved hand.
“Once, to visit a girlfriend in college. She lived in the first-floor apartment of this great brownstone her grandparents owned. It was great,” she opened the door to the apartment, and Gunner pulled her in, tongue lolling as she removed his leash and dug in a jar by the door for a dog treat.
“This is my place,” Lily said, gesturing expansively in the cramped hallway.
“Nice. Is the dog yours, too?” Alex leaned against the doorjamb, craning his neck to look down the hall and into a dim living room, small and crowded with two large couches and a cluttered coffee table.
“Gunner? No, he’s Gloria’s, my roommate’s. She’s been out of town - she actually gets back tonight - so I’ve been walking him. It gives me an excuse to walk in the snow.”
“Do you need one?” He smiled, raised an eyebrow.
“It’s nice to have one – otherwise I feel like I should be walking faster. What’s your excuse?”
“I was headed back to my friend’s place, to change and eat something. The Alumni hockey game is tomorrow, but they had a lunch for us today.”
Lily stepped into the kitchen quickly to fill Gunners’ water bowl. Behind her she could hear Alex’s feet on the squeaky floorboards. She finished filling the bowl and followed him to the living room. He stood looking at a picture of Lily and a dark-haired man tacked to a corkboard.
“Your boyfriend?” He asked, not looking at her.
“What? No, that’s my brother, that’s Joe. You remember Joe.”
“Oh yeah, damn, he looks so different.”
“Well you haven’t seen him in a long time. He just started college last year,” the living room was lit only by the hall light and streetlight filtering through the window. The muted light created a magnetic and uncomfortable intimacy. Lily coughed, and walked back out to the hall. Alex looked around once more, and followed.
“So, you’re still a goalie?” She scratched Gunner under the chin, and then gestured to Alex, who stepped out into the communal hallway as she closed and locked the door.
“I was a goalie,” Alex was in front now, as they descended the worn stairs, “But ‘alumni’ pretty much means that I’m not anymore.”
“I remember when you were the best goalie in Evanston,” she followed behind him as they exited the building, the whoosh of cold hitting their faces. It had stopped snowing.
“I wouldn’t say I was the best…” he demurred, stopping on the sidewalk.
“You don’t have to, I did. Somebody else told me that anyway, back then. Somebody who knew more than I did about hockey.”
“Do you have a bar in mind?” Alex changed the subject.
“Maybe Tonic?”
“Oh god,” he looked at her with horror.
“What, it’s close to here. Ok, I know it’s cheesy. How about Greens? You said you were going to eat, anyway, I’ll buy you a slice of pizza.”
“Ok, I’ll hold you to it,” he said with another tight smile, and they walked toward the bar. Now, without Gunner, the silence was amplified and stretched taut between them. Lily wiggled her fingers slightly, almost reaching for Alex’s hand, but gave up and reached to scratch the back of her neck instead. Alex looked up at the snow coming through the trees, and then glanced toward Lily, keeping his eyes low.
“Is that the same hat you bought in Chicago?” He asked her, just before the quiet became chronic, both of them silenced for all eternity.
“Yeah, it is! It’s the warmest hat I own, still.”
“That was the last time I saw you, I think. How long has it been?”
“It must have been six years now. Maybe seven,” she answered.
“I think we may have talked on the phone since then.”
“Probably,” she hunkered over, tucking her wool cap more firmly over her hair, partially due to cold and partially to embarrassment. She felt like she had to explain.
“I had a hard time for a while, what with my dad being sick and all. It seems like ages ago, but it really sucked,” she checked the bitterness in her voice, and took a deep breath, “Anyway, I’m sorry you had to know anything about that. It wasn’t really your problem.”
“Yeah, I know,” they were quiet for another miserable moment, Lily wondering why she had insisted on a drink, when Alex nodded toward the pub in front of them as they approached. He opened the door, and she stepped into the building and down the flight of stairs to the bar. The air was thick with the smells of pizza and the heat from the ovens. Now, it really was too late to back out, to go home and watch an old movie and pretend she’d never run into him.
“I’m good now though,” Lily added, hoping to shore up her wall of confidence as she slid into a booth, “I’m in a good place.”
“Yeah, what are you doing, by the way?” Alex began, but at that moment a waitress appeared, who took their orders for a stout (Alex) and a whiskey and eggnog (Lily), and said that she’d be back to take their food orders. Lily immersed herself in the menu.
“Hey, did you ever try the lemon pasta when you lived here? It sounds so weird, but something about it intrigues me.”
“No, I never did. Lily, did you know I was coming?” Alex asked, pushing his menu away, his words coming quickly.
“No, I didn’t know you were coming. But I knew you were bound to sooner or later,” her voice softened, as she looked down at the table, “I sort of imagined how it would be if you did.”
“Why did you move here? Is it because of me?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, assessing her.
“I got into graduate school here,” she answered, leaning back in her own chair and glaring, “It has nothing to do with you, cocky, they offered me a free ride and a stipend to teach. So, I accepted.”
“Sorry, I had to ask,” he crossed his arms.
“You really haven’t changed. I don’t know why I imagined you’d be different,” Lily fumed, her wall of confidence slowly collapsing in on itself, like a structure built entirely of play-doh.
“Why,” asked Alex, “Are you imagining me at all?”
“Because, even though it’s crazy, and probably stupid, I still care about you! I know it’s been a thousand years, but I still…” Lily threw up her hands in irritation, trying to form the words “love you”, and hit the waitress’ tray as she appeared behind her. The glasses sloshed, tipping sideways, and the eggnog, sliding in it’s own viscous puddle, tilted and fell, the majority of its contents landing in Lily’s lap.
“Shit, shit,” Lily said, jumping up and swiping at her skirt with a paper napkin.
“Here, I’ll get you a cloth,” said the waitress, setting down the stout in front of Alex and turning away.
“No don’t, it’s ok,” Lily called after her, and threw the napkins down on the table.
“This just isn’t my day, I’m sorry,” she looked at Alex, who looked back at her through his glasses, uncomprehending. She used to take them off of him when they kissed, gently slipping them off of his face as he cradled her cheek in his hand. The memory made her feel slightly nauseous.
“I’m just going to go, go home and get cleaned up, ok?” She said, pulling her hat down over her ears.
“You don’t have to, you can stay, we can talk,” Alex gestured toward the otherwise empty booth, the seat she had occupied covered in a splattered pattern of milk.
Could she? She wondered, looking at his face. It was the first face she had ever kissed. She had lied, she remembered exactly when they’d last talked on the phone. She had cried. She had cried and he had been mute on the other end, embarrassingly, heart-breakingly mute, a thousand miles away and likely dating somebody, in love with somebody else. He thought she was crazy, she could see it in his eyes, could hear it in his accusations.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t,” she gathered herself, breathing deeply for confidence, for self-assurance. She could do whatever she wanted, she reminded herself. She had no one to answer to, she was free. But her heart still ached.
“Lily…” Alex moved to stand, but she had already turned and walked out the door. Halfway down the street, she stopped and turned around. No one was there. Alex hadn’t followed her. A tear slid down her face, turning to ice on her cheek.

#

Lily stood in front of the oven, hours later, wearing dry clothes and leaning into the heat of the grilled cheese she was tending. A pot of soup simmered next to it, the accoutrements of self-comforting. Gunner sat below her, eagerly licking her hand when she offered him a detached piece of bread crust.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you Gunner?” She spoke pleadingly to the dog, the embarrassment still fresh enough to bring a flush to her cheeks, a crouch to her posture.
“I do, now that I hear you talking to the dog,” said a voice behind her, and she turned to find Gloria, her roommate, carting a suitcase that was dripping onto the hall carpet.
“Hey! I know, but it all makes sense in the context of my day, I promise. I literally cried over spilled milk, if you can believe it. Anyway, how was home?” Lily turned to her roommate as she talked, her posture relaxing. Being around her felt normalizing.
“It was fine, dysfunctional, you know. Are you ok?” Gloria set down her bag and shook out her hair, her thick curls sending out a thin spray of melted snow. Lily didn’t answer.
“Lil, are you ok?” Gloria’s voice was more concerned now, as she stood behind Lily, dripping melted snow onto the cracked kitchen tiles.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” Lily answered, “You know, surprisingly, I am ok.”
As she said it, it felt true, and relief flooded in, mixed with a sweet heartache, “I guess I saw a ghost from Christmas past, but… I survived. I’ll give you the details later, I need sustenance first.”
“Hmm, that’s almost convincing. Well, have you had any hot dates while I’ve been gone?” Gloria asked slyly, sitting down in a kitchen chair and pulling off her boots.
“Psh, no,” Lily turned back to her sandwich, scooting the spatula under it and flipping it over.
“Then who is the guy with the glasses?”
“What?” Lily didn’t turn around. She felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped onto her. The sweetness of her heartache was enough to give her a toothache.
“He’s kind of cute, he sort of has a young rabbi thing going on,” Gloria grinned, baiting her.
“I don’t… I mean, he’s an old friend, where did you see him?” Lily still didn’t turn around.
“Right outside. He gave me this,” Lily finally turned, slowly, and took hold of the piece of paper that Gloria was holding out.
“I didn’t read it, swear to God,” Gloria said, “I wanted to, but I had too much luggage.”
“Thanks Glor,” Lily muttered, sinking onto the kitchen floor across from her roommate, her back to the oven and feet out in front of her.
She unfolded the paper, and read it:

Lily,

Being an asshole was the best way I knew of getting over you. I was young, and stupid, and probably still am. I’m sorry.

Alex


Lily re-read the letter once, then once more. She put it down on her knees and looked to her right, toward the door. Gunner was sitting there, and he took a snipers’ chance at licking her nose.
“Oh Jesus, I might not be crazy after all,” she said quietly.
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. You’re sitting on the floor making out with a dog,” Gloria said, eyebrows raised. But Lily was already up and in the hall, pulling on boots over her leggings, a scarf around the neck of the old sweatshirt she was wearing.
“Hey, you’re grilled cheese is burning!” Gloria shouted, but the only response she got was a slammed door.
Out on the street, Lily looked up and down the sidewalk. The dusk had turned to night, but the streetlights illuminated a man in a canvas coat in the distance, hunched against the cold. She began to run.
Her feet pounded the snow, so fresh that it squeaked on the soles of her shoes. The cold air blew through her body, but the heat of exertion kept her from noticing. It had started snowing again, and the flakes hit her bare face, soft as feathers.
A few feet away from him, she stopped. He turned, hearing her, his glasses foggy. Nervously, unbidden, she giggled, out of breath.
He looked back at her, his face serious, his eyes surprised. He didn’t smile. She composed her face, and walked toward him, as he stepped toward her.
“Alex, I have to ask,” the words came out easily, since she’d been saying them in her head for the last two blocks, “Did it work?”
“What?” He fidgeted his hands in his pockets.
“Being an asshole. Did it work?” She stood tall, and her wall of confidence was back, reinforced by steel.
“No,” his face cracked, a smile, and then the whole face split, the entire façade of six years melting away as his eyes welled up. He sniffed.
He stood before her, his hands out of his pockets now, his body still. Then he stepped forward, and enfolded her in his arms.
“It didn’t work at all,” he said into her ear. She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, and grinned, laughing again. They were insensible to the snowflakes that whirled around them, so transient, their beauty brief but unforgettable.

[Lykaios]

Okay, this is my submission based on the Christmas theme. It's 4866 words long, so on the longer side, sorry. Thank you Jack and Majyk, who critiqued it so quickly, I'm very grateful. :)


Mistletoe and Stockings

Wind beat against the rusty black iron gates, moving them slightly with eerie grating sounds. The men stood in the ankle-deep snow, their faces red from the bitter cold. Each man’s clothes and cap were filthy and their faces were dull with a mixture of inexpressible anger and disappointment. Those whose families waited at home for news clung tightly to the gates and hurled words of abuse at the new site manager in his thick fur coat, who faced them with a look of stone.

Nickolai stood quietly amid the crowd, shivering. His limbs were numb with cold. He’d worked at the timber mill since he was thirteen, and now the place was being shut down by a rich aristocrat from the south.

“Go home, you bloody ol’ coot!” shouted Sam, a man he’d known since childhood, who was standing next to him. “This is our livelihood you’re taking away!”

“Sam, don’t bother,” said Nickolai, shaking his head. “It’s already done.”

A great gust of wind knocked down snow from the heavens in sweeping cascades of white haze, obscuring the men’s vision of what was happening behind the iron gates.

“What’ll we do now, Nick?” said Sam, angrily. “There won’t be enough work in the towns.”

Groups of men of all ages were breaking away from the gates, their footsteps as heavy as their hearts. Nickolai looked up at the white sky. Snow caught in his eyelashes and melted on his face.

“C’mon,” Nickolai mumbled, pulling his coat tighter around his body. He turned away from the gates and thought of his wife and two young children at home. He hadn’t told them about the stranger when he’d arrived to offer his plentiful tin for the mill, and he hadn’t told them that the mill’s owner had agreed to sell, either.

Most of the timber workers lived in the town, which was called Nordansk, but he and about fifteen others lived three miles away in the tiny village of Little Morrow. By the time Nickolai and Sam had got there, the snow had stopped and the sky was darkening to reveal the crisp scattering of stars, bright and ever-watchful above them.

Sam disappeared into his home quickly, desiring the warmth of his wife’s roaring fire to the freezing temperatures of the night outside. Nickolai hesitated outside his own home; it was a low log cabin, like many of the tiny dwellings that collectively made Little Morrow, and sat at the very edge of the village.

As cold as he was, Nickolai didn’t enter. Instead, he stood with his back to the village and breathed in the icy air blowing over the hills that closed in around the settlement. The snow glimmered in the moonlight, making the hills look like they’d collected falling diamonds of light from the sky.

There was a sound behind him and the crunch of snow underfoot. “Nickolai?”

Nickolai spun around and smiled at the young woman standing in front of the cabin, hiding his anxiousness and worry. He made his way through the snow and took his wife by the hand.

“Come, it’s too cold for you to be out here. They say there’ll be more snow tonight,” he said.

“Who says?” Jennie asked, letting him steer her inside. A wall of heat hit Nickolai when he entered, making his blood tingle and rush around his body. The cabin had two rooms; they slept in one and did everything else in the other. His young son and daughter were playing a game by the fire.

“Old Man Cole – you know how he is – he knows everything.”

Jennie’s father rose from his chair to stir the contents of the pot hanging over the fire. “You’re back early,” the old man muttered, scratching his bearded chin before sitting back down again.

“Yes, we walked quickly. You don’t want to be caught out in that any longer than you have to,” Nickolai replied. He couldn’t tell them about the mill . . . he couldn’t, not yet. He’d try and get work first. There was no point in worrying them.

Jennie went over to their children, picked up their daughter and led their son by the hand into the sleeping room. Nickolai breathed in the warmth of the cabin, letting the heat fill his body as he took off his heavy winter coat, his boots and cap.

“I know about the mill, Nick, you don’t need to hide it from me,” said the old man as Nickolai sat down in the chair opposite him beside the fire.

Nickolai’s throat caught as he tried to say something.

“You know I’ve never thought you to be good enough for my daughter, but this isn’t your fault – you shouldn’t hide it from her.”

Nickolai breathed deeply and glanced over at the bedroom door. “She’ll worry. She knows we don’t have enough supplies for the winter. Josiah . . .” He paused, not knowing what to say next. “Josiah, I’m going to try and find work. That’s all I can do at the moment, even if it’s just odd jobs to get us through.”

Josiah’s pale eyes bore into Nickolai’s. “And get us through, you must. I’ll not have my daughter and grandchildren die.”

The fire flickered fiercely in the small grate, licking the bottom of the cooking pot. But even in the cozy warmth, Nickolai felt an icy chill fill his belly.

The night swept the little village up in its wintry arms, as once more, snow fell fast and silent, covering Nickolai’s deep footprints outside. Lying in bed with his wife asleep beside him and his children’s easy breathing stirring the quiet between his father-in-law’s loud snores from the next room, Nickolai stared out of the window at the silvery icicles glittering from the edge of the roof.

Without money, they’d all starve or freeze, or both . . . the winter wouldn’t spare them out of mercy.

*

Five days passed and not one man from Little Morrow found work to replace their earnings from the timber mill. Any work in Nordansk had been quickly taken by the unemployed men there, and that still left a great many out of work. With the weather turning, the men were getting desperate.

They’d agreed to meet up in the chapel at the centre of Little Morrow on the night of the Winter Solstice to try and figure something out. It wouldn’t be much longer before the coal and food supplies ran out.

Nickolai sat in a pew near the front next to Sam. Josiah hovered at the back of the chapel after insisting to come along with him. Wind beat droves of snow at the stained glass windows, clouding the dull light inside.

“Right, so, you all know we’re in trouble,” said Masak, the village spokesman. “Anyone got any ideas?”

There was rumble of discontent from the gathered men. Sam nudged Nickolai’s arm. “States the obvious, doesn’t he?” he mumbled, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“I’m a carpenter,” said a burley man called Kiresh. “I know no other trade.”

“Same,” chorused several others. Some offered their skills with the same air of uselessness. The town just didn’t need so many woodworkers.

The discussion changed directions, moulding into fantastical suggestions for earning a living, suggestions to leave Little Morrow, or take back their mill from the no-good rich man. But no suggestion put forward offered any security of getting every man work.

Nickolai sat quietly, aware of his father-in-law listening to the useless parley. His mind tossed around all the ideas, useless and the more plausible until an idea formed in his own mind.
He stood up. “The wood. Where is the wood?” he said.

“Wood?” Sam repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

The chapel became quiet as Nickolai cleared his throat. “The wood. The wood from the mill — the wood we cut from the foothills, seasoned, turned into planks . . . that wood. Where is it?”

“Sat where we left it until that royal old coot decides to burn it or something,” muttered an older man standing next to Masak at the front of the chapel.

Nickolai shook his head, the plan still working itself out in his head. “That wood is ours, right? Our hard work. If we took back what was ours . . . how many carpenters are we? Six, seven?” He cast his eyes about the tiny room as men raised their hands. “What can we make from all that wood that we could sell to the towns?”

Kiresh breathed deeply. “Aside of furniture, not much. The wood’s cut in thin planks. Toys, maybe?”

Nickolai nodded slowly. “Toys for the town’s children. Do you think it could work? There’s more than enough wood.” Excitement was beginning to fill Nickolai’s chest with a warm flutter.

Masak scratched his neck as he thought, and then nodded slowly. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? We’ve got no other ideas to go on.”

*

The timber mill was quiet and deserted, covered in a thick, unspoilt white carpet. The iron gates were locked tight. Nickolai peered over the snowdrift and breathed out a breath of icy vapour. Six sleighs waited behind him, ready to be loaded for the first run.

He looked around and caught Sam’s determined expression. “Let’s go!”

Nickolai clambered over the low mound of snow and up to the wire fence around the back of the compound. The fence was old and rusted and held no resistance to his wire cutters. Soon, they were inside. The familiar scent of sawdust lingered in the air.

They knew the timber yard better than anyone and quickly found their way to the storehouse. Carrying the wood was more difficult and took longer than they’d anticipated. By the time all of the sleighs were laden with wood, they sky was darkening and more clouds from the north were heading their way.

One of Masak’s friends from the town had allowed them to use his big shed as a workshop. Nickolai led the team of sleighs there and the men quickly set to work. The sound of saws, hammers, chisels, and other woodworking tools filled the makeshift workshop, and a snowstorm of sawdust littered the floor as they worked into the night. And when morning came, they worked on until the pile of finished toys grew bigger and bigger.

Nickolai returned home with aching hands, exhausted, just as the weak afternoon sun was beginning to set. He shook the snow from his boots onto the mat before opening the door.

“Where have you been?” shouted Jennie as he entered the house. She fixed him with a cold stare and waited for him to answer. The house was freezing and dark.

“Working. I—”

“Working?” Jennie snapped. “Don’t lie to me. I know the mill is closed. Everyone knows. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nickolai’s heart beat fiercely in his chest. “I didn’t want you to worry—”

Jennie marched over to him; her expression was one of livid anger. “Worry?” she repeated. She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself but failing. “And what about now? We have no coal, our wood stores are empty and everything else is wet, we don’t have any food or paraffin for the lamps . . .” Her voice crumpled and tears welled in her eyes.

Nickolai reached out to hug her. He hated to see her so upset, especially when he knew he was the cause of it. Guilt spread like a chill through his body. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“I don’t want your apologies,” she snapped, pushing him away from her. “I want to know how we’re going to survive without warmth and food! You can’t lie your way through that – you can’t hide it and pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. We’ll all die, Nick!”

Nickolai saw Josiah take the children discreetly into the sleeping room behind her, whispering words of comfort to them. He sighed, trapped and lost for waords. He didn’t know how to explain. “Jennie, we’ve got a plan – all the men from the village—”

Jennie swore at him and pushed him away from her. “I don’t care! Plans are not going to feed your family. Just leave, okay?”

Nickolai started. Had he heard her right? His stomach churned with guilt and anxiousness. She was right, it was his fault, but she wouldn’t let him explain about the toys. Tomorrow they would go to the market. Tomorrow every man would bring home money and food for the table. Tomorrow everything would be better.

Nickolai didn’t move. He stared into his wife’s eyes and desperately searched for understanding.

“Go, Nickolai! Just go!” She shoved him back and he didn’t resist. His insides felt numb. She pushed him out of the door and he stumbled back as she slammed it in his face. Nickolai’s breath rhythmically created a fog of vapour between him and the door as his body refused to move. Everything had gone wrong. He had wanted to bring home good news . . .

*

Nickolai slept restlessly in the little chapel that night, and when morning came, he began the trek into Nordansk early and started work on the toys alone. The silence of the workshop gave him time to think – too much time. When the other men started to arrive, Nickolai kept an eye out for his father-in-law to try and find out how his family were, but he never came.

At midday, he, Sam and Masak loaded one of their sleighs with as many toys as it would carry. The market was busy with people, as it always was. There was a buzz of noise as people passed by the stalls, the ground beneath their feet turning into a muddy slush.

“Handmade toys – your children will love them!” Sam yelled into the crowds.

Children reached up to touch, called out to their parents. At the stall next to them, Old Man Cole was selling mistletoe. The smell of the plants reminded Nickolai of home as he sold toy after toy. Jennie always made a mistletoe garland on Christmas Eve.

At the end of the day, they’d made enough money to see half of the men through the winter months, which was quite an achievement. When the three of them took the money back to the workshop, the others could scarcely believe it. And they’d been working on further toys all day so there would be more to sell the next day.

When the other men went home, Nickolai stayed behind and worked on the toys late into the night. He didn’t like to sleep alone, and working kept the bitter cold away. Only when the paraffin ran out did he stop.

*

Two more days went by with great success. The townspeople all wanted toys for their children and the toys flew off the stall. As night-time darkness replaced the last ebbs of the daylight on Christmas Eve, the men went home cheerfully with money in their pockets and parcels of food under their arms.

Gloominess settled over Nickolai as he remembered he’d be alone once again. He watched his friends leave before he turned back to the workshop. Two figures were standing in the doorway.

“Nick . . .” Josiah stepped forward and smiled half-heartedly. Sam stood next to him holding a sack-cloth bag.

“Is everyone alright back home?” Nickolai asked Josiah quietly. He didn’t want his problems to become his friends’, too.

“We’re okay. I had a little money kept by, but you know how it is.”

Nickolai nodded and smiled thankfully at his father-in-law.

Masak appeared from behind the workshop, leading three magnificent reindeer drawing a sleigh behind them. Their antlers rose high above their heads, eleven and two twelve-pointers, and their wide, intelligent eyes caught in the moonlight.

“What’s with the reindeer?” he asked.

“They’ll get you through the snow faster,” Masak replied.

Nickolai looked at him quizzically. He wasn’t going anywhere tonight. “What do you mean?”

“We still have toys left, and Josiah had an idea that we should give them to our kids. I mean, every child in town is going to have one, why not our own? The other boys decided that you’d be the best to deliver them as you’ve put the most work into them,” Sam explained.

“Deliver?” Nickolai blinked.

“Everyone’s agreed to leave their doors unlocked for you during the Midnight Mass service tonight in the chapel so you can deliver them.”

Nickolai smiled. It sounded wonderful. He thought of the children’s faces when they saw the toys after the service. It would be perfect. A perfect Christmas . . . for some, anyway.

*

The moon arched in the sky as the night drew on, higher and higher. Sam left them at an hour before midnight, just before they, too, took stock of what they needed to do. Masak had agreed to come with him and help, as he had no children and no wife to miss him at the service.

Masak extinguished the paraffin lamps and Josiah picked up the outside lantern from the workbench and lit it. He smiled and nodded, placing a hand on Nickolai’s shoulder. “There’s something I’d like you to have.” The old man stiffly took the bag that Sam had been holding earlier. He untied the top slowly with his arthritic fingers.

Inside was a heap of thick fur of such colour Nickolai had never seen. It was a deep crimson red, warm and bright, but not as such that it looked like blood. No, Nickolai, thought, it’s like the red of a hot flame.

Josiah lifted the material from the bag and Nickolai saw that it was actually a coat lined with perfect white fur. Josiah handed it to him and caught his gaze. “This was my father’s coat, and my grandfather’s before him. I remember he told me as a boy that it always kept him warm, no matter how cold the weather became. I’d like you to have it, as I have no son. You’ll need it tonight.”

Nickolai looked down at the huge coat in his arms. It appeared bulky and heavy, but it felt as light as a simple jersey. He didn’t know what so say. Josiah had always been cold towards him, until recently; he didn’t understand why he would give him something that meant so much to him.

“Thank you . . .” Nickolai mumbled, shocked at the old man’s generosity. He was suddenly aware of the closing darkness. He put the coat on and tied it with his belt. It fit perfectly.

“Good luck, Nick,” said Josiah as Nickolai turned around and left the workshop. Josiah followed him out into the snow.

Masak stood beside the sleigh which was weighed down with a sack full of toys for the children of Little Morrow and another sack containing individual bags of coal. “Everything’s ready for you, Nick.” He passed Nickolai the reigns for the three reindeer as he found his footing on the wooden runners.

“Nice coat,” Masak added, standing back.

“Aren’t you coming?”asked Nickolai.

“Too much weight – you’ll be quicker on your own,” Masak replied. “I’ll go back with Josiah on his sleigh.”

Nickolai nodded and flicked the reigns. The sleigh moved effortlessly off over the snow as the reindeer leapt forwards, leading the sleigh into the dark of the wilderness between the town and Little Morrow. The frosty wind whipped at Nickolai’s dark hair and exposed skin, but somehow he didn’t feel it. The coat seemed to radiate warmth all over his body. He smiled to himself and flicked the reigns again, then gave a shout as the reindeer surged forwards at an almost unreal speed.

The clouds cleared, revealing a dark sky scattered with stars. The moonlight gleamed off the fresh snow, filling the landscape with an almost heavenly light that seemed to express winter’s very breath. Nickolai glanced back at the shrinking lights of the town. He would be there in nearly no time at all.

The reindeer began to slow when they kissed the crest of the settlement’s surrounding heights and began their decent into the valley. Little Morrow was tucked away in an ancient dell, almost invisible from this angle if it wasn’t for the warm light spilling from the windows of the small wooden houses. He could see shapes; tiny figures making their way to the chapel. It was all working just as they’d planned.

By the time the sleigh reached the first house, the sound of the children’s voices was already filling the night. Nickolai quickly stepped into the snow and lifted the first sack from the sleigh.

“Stay here,” he mumbled to the restless reindeer.

The door was unlocked, just as Sam had promised. Inside, the house was roughly the same layout as Nickolai’s own home, with few rooms and simple wooden furniture. The warm glow of the fire filled the main room with a warm, flickering glow. He placed a little cloth bag of coal beside the fireplace and then looked for a place to put the children’s toys. At the table? On their beds?

He stood in the middle of the house, stumped at what to do. They hadn’t discussed this part of the plan. He stepped backwards and tripped over something, landing heavily on his back. Nickolai groaned and struggled to his feet, then looked at what he had tripped over. It was a basket full of clothes that needed mending and on top of it were two holey stockings. He reached into his sack and pulled out a toy train and a little toy soldier for Kiresh’s two young sons, then placed them inside the stockings and hung them over the fireplace where they would be noticed. He smiled at the simplicity of it.

So, for every house he visited after that, he stole one of the children’s stockings from their rooms, the pile for sewing, or the place where they’d been left to dry, and put a toy inside, then hung the stocking beside the fireplace.

Home after home he visited, leaving toys for his friends’ children to find. He worked his way down the village, not missing a single house where a child lived. He enjoyed the secrecy and the excitement of it; delivering presents in the dead of night.

The eleventh house however, posed a problem.

His hand closed around the door handle and he pushed with all his strength, but the door wouldn’t budge. He knew the family who lived there, like he knew all of the village’s residents. The man in question was well-known to be forgetful.

Nickolai swore to himself and stood on the doorstep. What was he going to do now? He glanced down the street self-consciously. He needed to find a way inside the house. The windows were all shut tight and there was no other door. A deep sigh of frustration escaped his lips. He thought about the little boy who lived there. He was one of his son’s best friends; he couldn’t miss this house. He sat down on the porch and gazed out across the dark snowy street marred only by the runner marks of his sleigh and the reindeers’ scuffed tracks.

Singing rose faintly in the air as it had since he’d started the venture. Further down the street he heard the familiar voices of Masak and Josiah over the sound of their sleigh ploughing through the snow. He watched as they cheerfully stopped outside the chapel and then disappeared inside the building.

He stood up and brushed the snow off his coat, then looked around for a place to leave the little boy’s toy. He didn’t have long left, now. The only things in the little undercover area were a small pile of logs, a tin bowl full of frozen water and a pair of abandoned child-sized shoes. Nickolai picked up one of the shoes. It wasn’t a stocking, but why not?

He left the porch with the little toy sticking out of the child’s shoe and the bag of coal leant against the door with a smile on his face.

He delivered his gifts of toys and coal to the rest of the houses without any problems. And then finally, he stood before the last house. Snow was piled up against one side of the cabin and icicles hung from the edges of the roof. No fire flickered from within.

He got off the sleigh and took the last toys from the sack; a little wooden horse for his daughter and a yo-yo for his son. In the other hand he carried a larger cloth bag.
Snow crunched beneath his boots with each step.

On the other side of the village, the hour of music and the singing stopped and slowly people began to pour out of the little chapel towards their homes. Children raced through the snow, shouting and playing. Above them, the stars twinkled knowingly, waiting and watching.

Nickolai’s hand closed around the icy door handle. He pushed and let himself into the dark room, feeling at once like he shouldn’t be there, like an intruder. The grate stood empty because of him and his wife and children had gone hungry because of him.

A woman lingered behind in the pews while her two children called her to come outside. She prayed silently for her husband to return. She prayed her children would always remain so happy. She prayed for the winter to be kind. She prayed for a miracle.

Nickolai knelt on the hearth rug and set about making a fire. He’d brought splinters for kindling and leftover wood from the workshop. Once he’d got it going, he placed lumps of coal on top of the burning sticks. The house would be warm for his family when they came back from the service. Jennie’s mistletoe garland sat unfinished on the chair.

The old man watched his grandchildren play outside the chapel, a secret warming his heart. Families he had known all his life slipped happily into their homes, confident the winter wouldn’t defeat them.

Nickolai was placing the food he’d brought earlier that day on the table when the door opened and two happy shouts met his ears. His children ran to him and he embraced them, breathing in their familiar smells, hearing their familiar chatter. It had been no longer than four days, but, to him, that was way too long.

“Nickolai . . . ?”

He looked up and bit his lip sheepishly as his wife stepped towards him through the doorway, with Josiah behind her. He watched as her eyes took in the food and the stuffed stockings hanging over a roaring fire with astonishment.

“It was meant to be a surprise . . . I thought if . . . I tried to tell you before, like everyone else . . .” His words turned to nervous rambles. He stopped and stood up. The distance between them felt like an abyss. “I’m sorry.
”
Jennie’s eyes softened and she smiled warmly. “I know.”

“Mother, look!” Their son pointed at the stockings over the fireplace. “What’s that inside?”

Jennie turned to Nickolai as he came forwards and put his arms around her. “What have you boys been up to?”

Nickolai smiled. “Secret.”

Outside, the rest of the villagers emerged from their homes with their excited children. Only the men knew how the toys had got into the stockings and the coal had appeared beside their fireplaces. The children spun stories of elves and fairies while the mothers gleefully quizzed their secretive husbands.

Jennie heard the noise outside and together they went to the door. Their children pushed past them and joined their friends in the snowy street.

“Well done, Nick,” said Josiah, thumping Nickolai on the back and beaming.

Nickolai grinned back and met his wife’s amazed gaze. “C’mon. Come with me!” He grabbed her hand and led her, running, to the sleigh. He helped her in and then sat down next to her, clasping the reigns in his gloved hands.

“Where are we going?” Jennie asked, laughing.

“I want to show you Christmas,” said Nickolai as he flicked the reigns.

The reindeer surged forwards in a flurry of excitement. Snow flew up behind them like frozen sea-spray. The sleigh sped through the town, past the villagers and children, past the houses and the chapel, and out onto the plain.

Above them, the wind picked up and the stars twinkled. A flash of bright light illuminated the sky with pink and green and orange ribbons; breathtaking trails in the heavens that swished and fell as silent as the snowfall itself. The lights swooped over the landscape, sweeping the tops of the hills and covering the fresh snow with strokes of sparkling colour.

The sleigh sped away through the snow, and to the people left behind it would look as though the sleigh itself was flying on the very streams of the Aurora Borealis, scattering starry diamonds of coloured light behind it.

The old man, Josiah, called his grandchildren to him, and together they watched as a story began.

[Mercy]

Title: The Tragedy of Aella
Theme: Steampunk
Word Count: 1788
Note: I apologize that this isn't very...Chirstmasy or good-spirited. NaNoWriMo sucked the life out of me so it's probably horrible, and we just went over tragedies in class, so I thought I would attempt to write one. I'm not sure if I achieved the theme here (probably not enough detail, in some aspects), but here it is. :)


I

A soft, milky morning curdled behind thick, breathless black smoke. Tall throats loomed above the city, clustered into a contorted circle in the distance, their smooth, stained lips heaving the hideous lumps from their chests. Mechanically, in that nightly morning, the grumbling of automobiles hummed in the stark air, and from her bed Aella stirred.

The outside world remained muffled for but a few moments as her brain rebooted, her muscles twitching tenderly beneath soft speckled skin. “Fire, oh, fire! It burns, it burns, it burns!” Her aunt groaned frantically with the morning from the opposing room. The woman had been inflicted with burns by an accident in the factory three years prior, and her mind kept time with her body, so that her lips emitted the steam of her anguish every hour hence. “Fire, fire, fire!”

When the bedridden woman choked from the exhaustion and fell quiet, Aella went to her room, dressed and carrying breakfast. She fed her aunt, careful to take her time; but it remained a great difficulty, for as soon as water skimmed over the dry muscles, the elder immediately began her greedy outpour of “Fire! Oh, oh, oh!”

In unison with the unaided cries the door hinges squealed as weight pressed upon them, and her mother stormed inwards, her hair swinging hard in the dense air. Her thin lips crushed together in a firm line, while her nostrils flared like heavy-set lungs bloated with air, and all the while her murky brown eyes were aflame with some sort of psychological nonsense one might only inflict upon themselves.

“Wha’ ‘he hell are yo’ s’ill doin’ here?”

Aella snapped upright, and turned her nimble body towards her guardian timidly.

“Yo’ sho’ld bes a’ work, ins’ead of slacken ‘ro’nd here, yo’ damned lazy bi’ch! Jeezus Chris’o! Can yo’ no’ even do yo’r work, child?”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!”

“Yo’ be’er be, God damn! Wor’hless bi’ch…” The woman grounded out, her hands grabbing a dusty piece newspaper and rolling it up into a hard-hitting cylinder, waving her child out the door in a hurry, before going back to her ailing sister’s side.

II

“Hey, I gots som’ stuff,” Abaddon said as she set beside him, ready to work. “It’s from a pal in da steam fact’ries up in da front lanes.”

“Is that why your eyes are goin’ pink again? Som’ new stuff?”

Abaddon shrugged, unhooked a flask from the loose hook hanging off his belt, and slurped up some liquor. Wiping his mouth and referring to the ‘new stuff’, he said, “Do ya want som’?”

Caught in a crossroads in which the appropriate answer had been digested by her many times seemed hard and dead; it appeared somewhat inappropriate now that the inquirer happened to arrive in the guise of a kindly friend whom she knew, or guessed by the consistency of his drink, desecrated himself in the thrashing machine of Insecurity. Then what should she do?

Aella knew, of course, the negative aspects of the drugs, for her teacher (Abaddon, the Great Fool, of course, enjoyed the unwilling pupil) described them in great detail – only so, in fact, that he could then discuss the abnormal and overbearing goodness of such substances. Yet never had he offered her a sample, and so thus she was stuck.

So as not to injure his already delicate mental state, or their friendship, as she told herself, she nodded hesitantly. Perhaps, she might throw it away, so as not to be caught later by some puffed up policeman and shoved into the holding place of hell.

The plan might have worked. However, as soon as she agreed his fingers scavenged his trouser pockets (so obvious, really!) and he offered her a small beige pouch. Her hands cautiously fondled the tiny bag, before placing it in her pocket and continuing with the twisting and turning of the screws in her tedious occupation as an assembly line worker.

When the black smoke blended with the murky ink of the night sky, the two traversed to his run-down, still coal-powered cottage that resembled a coach without wheels. Abaddon took a plain, grimy sheet of paper and rolled it accurately into a cylinder. He proceeded to adjust the amount of the substance and he offered a vague explanation of what was to occur. For once he seemed unsure himself.

With the infinitesimal white particles spread across the table, Aella took the open ended gadget and placed it at her nostril. With trembling, white knuckled fingers, she snuffed it all up.

III

Aella crumpled beside Abaddon on the decrepit, stained couch well worn and torn from decades of use a fortnight after her first sniff. Eyes fluttered around the room in a haze, a thin mist of pink layering the whites of her eyes. Beneath the trim black lashes drooped deep mauve circlets, at her sides her were hands hysterically tweaking and twitching in a seemingly clockwork series of spasms.

All these small symptoms Abaddon did not displace or shake away, for he recognized them quite easily as signs of her instability in relation to the drug. A cold crack of guilt split his chest for several moments, causing him to be unsure of what to say.

“Did ya go to da soup kitchens today?”

“Nope,” she said hoarsely.

“Didn’ ya sign up?”

“Yep.”

“Why not?” She shrugged in response, he paused, briefly. “Ya need anything? Drink? Food? Wanna see the new steam stacks they’re buildin’?”

Her reaction was hesitant, embarrassed even, as she shifted in her seat and her cheeks painted themselves red. She looked down, ashamed. “More.”

IV

“Fire, fire, fire! Oh, oh, oh!”

Groaning, Aella removed herself from her bed. Thick, moist canopies of sleep stuck to her eyelids, and a thin film invaded her morning vision. From her room, she heard the bellowing steam furnace in the front of the house and her mother’s whistling. Glancing at her clock and the bleak, lingering night, she realized that she had woken up on time.

Aella swung her lanky legs out of bed and began her new morning ritual, taking Life from its pouch hidden in a safe beneath her bed and ingesting a small portion so as to relax the nerves. Afterwards she swiftly returned the powered elixir to its temporary abode and set for work, disregarding her aunt’s frantic yelps and the sudden lack of her mother’s merry tune.

V

Abaddon walked beside Aella, still noticing her awkward, jerky habits and the eccentric diluting and contracting of her pupils. He knew her abrupt change in character to be a product of an unrestricted naivety in the moderation of all things, so that her own character had been long displaced upon the frequent escapades of ecstasy. It was this, despite all other causes, which could be named the prime engineer in this disaster which Abaddon blamed himself for.

Therefore, he offered to accompany her home to attempt to find some orthodox (or, if it came to it, unorthodox) remedy to her obvious addiction.

However, in approaching her humble shack of a house, they found it engulfed in a fiery furnace with billowing, death black smoke croaking from the discolored and smoldering orifices. People were huddled around, her mother included, throwing water as a child might attempt to coax a father into forgiveness for a large crime with a small smile.

His hands reached out to grab the collar of her coat as she rushed into Hell.

Aella coughed as her lungs constricted in the harsh presence of the smoke, quickly pursing her room. As the house was small and compact, and the ceiling had not yet caved in, she reached it with little effort. All the while, her aunt screamed from her room, “Fire, fire, fire!”

Immediately Aella collapsed beside her burning bed, yanked the safe from its underbelly and frantically began to turn the dial. One – two – three – unlocked! The door swung open and in turn, smacked into a miniature metal bird. A switch was flicked and its little copper mouth opened and its eyes glowed blue. Steam curled from its tiny, melting beak before the blue eyes sputtered and it once again became lifeless.

She replaced the toy with her cap, took a pinch of her Savior and placed it on the top, and then took a small paper cylinder from her pocket. She snorted the power readily and smiled as her body slackened.

“Fire, fire, fire!” Her aunt moaned.

Feeling a sudden pang of guilt rattle her bones, she took another sniff before replacing her cap, shoving the pouch in her break pocket, and dashing to her aunt’s room.

All four walls were being eaten alive by murky waves of fire. The ceiling ceased to exist from the intense blanket of smoke that suffocated it; slowly it was doing the same to her aunt, whose cries were beginning to fade into nothingness.

Aella rushed to her aunt’s side, hacking from the hard impact of the smoke. Her hands carelessly squeezed under her body and heaved the woman up and over Aella’s boney shoulder. Mind still relaxed and soft from the intake of drugs, she stumbled through the hallways which were being ripped apart by the ravenous blaze. Staggering out the door and onto the lawn, Aella collapsed onto the hard ground, her aunt barely breathing in her left ear.

Sirens roared from the road – a steam-powered metallic brown fire-truck zooming towards the house. A resounding screech blared over the fire’s crackle as men and women streamed out of the truck and began unloading a massive hose.

Suddenly Aella’s line of vision was invaded by a pair of thick black boots. She looked up, but failed to see anything more than blackness. The weight from her back disappeared abruptly, as some of the townsfolk had removed her aunt on her as to attend to her flaming wounds.

Aella attempted to sit up on her knees just as the owner of the black boots squatted down. The man’s face was blurry and his voice mixed with the chaos around them. Digging into his pocket, or what she suspected to be a pocket, he pulled out a small light and shone it into her eyes.

Hearing her groan, he halted in his administrations and instead settled for removing the miniature pouch from her breast pocket. He shook his head, chuckled bitterly, “Steampunk, eh?”

The man placed both articles in his pocket, removed handcuffs from his belt and coldly slapped them onto her wrists. His hard hand yanked her from the ground and led her away.

Abaddon stood there, motionless and pale as they passed, and something sorrowful burrowed inside him as the fire bellowed till daybreak.

[Emberwood]

Note: I apologize that this isn't very...Chirstmasy or good-spirited. NaNoWriMo sucked the life out of me so it's probably horrible, and we just went over tragedies in class, so I thought I would attempt to write one.


I know the feeling! I just got finished with NaNo as well and mine's not exactly Christmasy or good-spirited, either. However, mine is supposed to be in the Christmas category, so we'll see what happens. xD

[Shaun]

The contest is over, obviously, and I will have your winner at the very beginning of January. There's still time to get SBS if you want to win something else and still show your support for young writers...just saying :P.

Anywho!

[Rouge]

SO.........
when will we know.

[miss_smiley]

I'm with her...
>.>
<.<

Also, inanely curious.

[Shaun]

I hope you mean insanely, not inanely...

You'll know when I know. The Board of Directors is looking over your submissions now. We will reach a decision in a few days.

[miss_smiley]

(No, I meant inanely. It's ridiculous how curious I am.)

[Shaun]

I want you all to know that I'm about halfway through.

[Rouge]

Ho-hum.

[Shaun]

I'll be done this weekend and winners will be announced. I'll have brief comments for everyone (emphasis on brief). So far, I haven't disliked any stories.

[Zombified]

Any news?

[Rouge]

Yep, it's Monday. I hope so.

[Shaun]

Two subs left.

[Shaun]

On the last sub. Have two winners in mind, and runner ups. Due to MLK day, this is an ultra-extended weekend for me.

[Shaun]

And now, because I feel like being an annoying person by triple-posting (I'm the Evil Tyrant, I can do whatever the hell I want, so bite me), here are your runner-ups (all comments in this entire post are my personal opinion):

"The Tragedy of Aella" by Mercy
Steampunk and cocaine. Frakking brilliant. That’s exactly what I meant by putting the punk back in steampunk. The only major flaw here is that occasionally you have a sentence that doesn’t make a lot of sense, or is confusing at first (some errors here or there). I love the story, though, but it needed a little more editing. (Keep this one in mind for SBS, by the way)

"Untitled" by Iridescence
I loved this story until the end. There needs to be more. It cuts off too soon. Even a few more paragraphs (perhaps of her describing what she is now, or something). If not for the ending, this story would be really fantastic. Right now, it’s good, but needs that extra kick.

"Second Childhood" by miss_smiley
I like this one. Mystical and heartwarming. The only thing that would make this better is if you spent more time defining Lily. I had trouble figuring out what surgery she’d had (what for? Is it connected to Albie?) and the beginning could have made more of that clear (especially the bit about her being a mother; I didn’t think the mystery of who Lily was needed to be there all that much, but certainly the mystery of everything else worked). But, still, I liked it.

And the winner is:
"Mistletoe and Stockings" by Lykaios
Love it. I was iffy about the italic sections, but this story really had me from start to finish, despite kind of having seen it before (isn’t this similar to that old stop-motion animation by the folks who did the Rudolf one?). Just felt all warm and tingly and Christmas-y to me.

Contact me right away so I can get you your prize!




Comments for the remaining stories:

"Untitled" by Tsuki
Cute story, certainly, but probably too brief for the concept. There’s a clear post-apocalyptic theme, but it never is fully realized. We’re just told “it’s not good” and given the happy moment at the end. I think it would have more impact if there were more substance to the negative aspects of this world (think how Cormac McCarthy’s The Road hardly explains why the world is messed, but gives you so much to look at and feel that it doesn’t matter; you end up understanding by the end and the final moments are that much more powerful).

"Santa Claus" by jcsk88
As flash fiction, it sort of works, but the weakness of this piece is in two places: 1) it’s kind of obvious what is going to happen (only two options are possible here; Satan is real or there’s something bad); 2) when the obvious thing happens…it ends. You could do so much more!

"Innocence" by Majyk
Interesting idea (not original, sure, but still interesting). I thought the ending was a little too brief for all that came before (it wasn’t a shock to me, so ending it there seemed weird). If this were significantly shorter, then the ending would have more impact. Right now, it needs more.

"Frosty the Snowman" by Zombified
Dammit. You can’t stop the story there, you bastard. I want the resolution! It starts getting creepy and you just cut it off. That's not right!

"The Story of Annabelle Wess" by Emberwood
I found this one really hard to get into, partly because the prose frequently jumps around from past to present tense, and partly because I didn’t find it all that believable. How exactly does her physical anomaly remain hidden for so long?

"Redemption" by mary
Cute story. I kind of saw the ending coming, though, but it did have the kind of depth to make it more interesting than it might have been otherwise. Other than, I don't have much to say about it. It works and certainly heartwarming.

There you go guys! Congrats to the winners and runner-ups!

[Zombified]

Hey, hey!

Congrats to Lykaois!

I'm glad so many people participated in this contest.

Here's hoping we have many more with the same turn out!

[Majyk]

Congratulations, Lykaios! I'm really happy for you!

[Rouge]

Congrats, Lily! ^^

[Lykaios]

Ooh, wow, thank you! ^^

[miss_smiley]

Congrats, Lily! And thanks to everyone who competed and judged. ^^

[jcsk88]

Congrats Lykaios and all you fantastic runner-ups! I guess I was spot on with my predictions :D.