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I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Ere the eves were full of snow
A small amount falls off
There be no wind tonight to blow
The red man near the trough
He fiddles down the chimney fast
As silent as a mouse
And at the bottom knows at last
Another's in the house
One brings joy material
The other, sombre sorrow
The one in black, ethereal
Denies one their tomorrow
The man in red and spectre black
A fleeting glance they take
The red one's presents all will lack
From sadness Death will make
For one it's nice and naughty
To the other, matters not
He'll touch the father's body
And will send him to the plot
So Santa leaves an extra toy
A sad look on his face
Because tonight will see a special boy
Lose that he can't replace. | [In a dark chamber, in a chewed, wooden throne sat the end of all days, Death](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFxLFDP0I64). The list he held troubled him, it had only one name. A trouble that would never show on his gleaming skull or constant grin. Death had the memories of doing the job since time began, but it was the first time he felt anything about what he did.
One name on Christmas eve. There was a time and place and all Death had to do was be there. It didn't trouble him that he was working on Christmas Eve, he did it every year. Knowing nothing but the weight of time on every life, dates didn't mean anything, only the finite amount of days given mattered to every person he met. But a single name, it never happened before. Death reached for the scythe by his chamber door and the blade tapped the wall. The chime echoed even after the door closed behind him.
As always, everything seemed to spread out from where he stood. It was another street with houses similar to all the others. People trying to fit in by showing little differences, but they were always the same. Shoveled their sidewalks the same, same cars, same lights, same lives. Death moved up the sidewalk in silence, all doors were open to him and he went inside.
The floor was covered with all manner of footwear. Of course, there had to be guests, of all the luck, all these people were to wake up to a day they'd want to forget. In the living room, nothing, nobody stretched out on couches, maybe a basement. Through darkness, he wandered room to room. Found guests wrestling sleep on top of uncomfortable guest beds in the basement. None of them matched the name. Up the stairs in silence, into the parents room. Nothing.
One last room, the door was closed and an old dog lay on the floor. Death could see that the dog's time was almost up, it would be the dog's the last Christmas. The old guardian, who could barely see anymore, pushed himself up to a sitting position and whined. Death only nodded, sorry that the dog understood what must have been happening. The dog lay back down and sniffed at the long black robe as Death walked past into the room.
Toys, the floor strewn wall to wall with the toys of a little boy. Death looked over and saw that the bed was occupied by three children, they looked to be about the same age. Death only stood and thought, mornings after were always hard, always a new day where someone who wouldn't be there again. Over and over and they would always remember to ask about it when it came their time. There was never an answer to give. Confusion struck, none of these names matched the one on his list.
Death walked out and past the dog, he saw that there was light coming from the living room. Down the stairs and when he rounded the corner, he saw something, someone he never thought he would ever see. A beard, a big white beard, rosy cheeks, and a set of eyes twinkled at him. Red hat, fur trim, and the rest of him matched.
"Santa Claus?"
"Yes, sir." Santa nodded and pulled another gift from a large red bag and put it under the tree.
"This can't be right. Without you, the world will never be the same." Death pulled out his cracked, yellowing list and looked.
"Nope, afraid I'm not on that list tonight." Santa grunted and slid a large package up against the wall. Santa froze when he heard the creek of a bed.
"I don't understand." Death pocketed his list and then thumped his scythe on the carpet, it wasn't loud, but it did make Santa wince. "I was sent here to take someone."
"All you do is take," Santa looked over his shoulder, up at the ceiling, "and take." Santa brought his finger to his lips then pointed up.
"You weren't sent here to take anything, Death. Those days are over." Santa took off his hat and plopped it onto Death's head.
"What?" Death didn't resist when Santa pulled the scythe out of his hands. "You? You can't do this job, I won't let you."
The deep rumble of muffled laughter came from Santa, from behind his giant mitten over his mouth. "Me? Good heavens, no. Someone else is already doing your job, don't worry about it." There was another loud creak from upstairs. Santa nodded towards the door, they had to leave.
Death had seen his share of oddities in the world, but the snuffling and thumping of reindeer on a roof, with a sleigh parked there, was something he couldn't stop looking at. He wanted to tell Santa that they had to be quiet, but Santa lifted his giant bag and put it in the back with a thump.
Santa read what was on Death's face. "Don't worry, we're outside, they can't hear us." Santa lifted the scythe into the back and set it down.
"Why am I here?" Death asked while Santa brushed his big mittens together.
"I'm retiring, friend." Santa looked up and took a long breath. "You've taken enough, and you've left enough sorrow, now it's time for you to take over."
"What?" Death never said a lot, but he always had the words if he needed them, now they all went missing. Something inside him began to shine when he heard an actual '*ho ho ho*'-like laugh come from Santa.
"All those memories rattling around in that head of yours, they aren't *all* yours. They muddled up your brain, trust me, it takes a while, but it comes back." Santa reached into one of the giant pockets of his coat and pulled on a long piece of paper. "Here, take a look. Last name on the list tonight."
Death leaned over to see, then he pulled out the yellowing parchment that was his own list, the names were the same. "Who is this?" Death's boney thumb rasped up and down the side of the crumbling paper.
"It's you!" Santa's belly shook as he laughed. "That man is gone tonight though. The last gift I have to give tonight is for you." Santa reached into his sleigh and pulled out a wrapped parcel.
When Santa held it out to Death, memories sprung off the wrapping, it shined and glittered. Death, who had been numb for so long, filled with a happiness he never thought he'd feel ever again. Memories of sitting and just watching the lights twinkle of a Christmas tree, of racing to the living room and the frenzied crinkle of wrapping flying into the air. Family, friends, and kind strangers, all of that washed back over him and left only warmth. Then the epiphany that he would now be able to bring that feeling to people, it released a near frantic laugh. Death didn't notice that tears rolled down his cheeks once again, rolled down into his bushy white beard.
"Merry Christmas, Death. Oop, sorry, Merry Christmas, Santa."
[The End.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OhBeb4rlvw) |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
| [In a dark chamber, in a chewed, wooden throne sat the end of all days, Death](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFxLFDP0I64). The list he held troubled him, it had only one name. A trouble that would never show on his gleaming skull or constant grin. Death had the memories of doing the job since time began, but it was the first time he felt anything about what he did.
One name on Christmas eve. There was a time and place and all Death had to do was be there. It didn't trouble him that he was working on Christmas Eve, he did it every year. Knowing nothing but the weight of time on every life, dates didn't mean anything, only the finite amount of days given mattered to every person he met. But a single name, it never happened before. Death reached for the scythe by his chamber door and the blade tapped the wall. The chime echoed even after the door closed behind him.
As always, everything seemed to spread out from where he stood. It was another street with houses similar to all the others. People trying to fit in by showing little differences, but they were always the same. Shoveled their sidewalks the same, same cars, same lights, same lives. Death moved up the sidewalk in silence, all doors were open to him and he went inside.
The floor was covered with all manner of footwear. Of course, there had to be guests, of all the luck, all these people were to wake up to a day they'd want to forget. In the living room, nothing, nobody stretched out on couches, maybe a basement. Through darkness, he wandered room to room. Found guests wrestling sleep on top of uncomfortable guest beds in the basement. None of them matched the name. Up the stairs in silence, into the parents room. Nothing.
One last room, the door was closed and an old dog lay on the floor. Death could see that the dog's time was almost up, it would be the dog's the last Christmas. The old guardian, who could barely see anymore, pushed himself up to a sitting position and whined. Death only nodded, sorry that the dog understood what must have been happening. The dog lay back down and sniffed at the long black robe as Death walked past into the room.
Toys, the floor strewn wall to wall with the toys of a little boy. Death looked over and saw that the bed was occupied by three children, they looked to be about the same age. Death only stood and thought, mornings after were always hard, always a new day where someone who wouldn't be there again. Over and over and they would always remember to ask about it when it came their time. There was never an answer to give. Confusion struck, none of these names matched the one on his list.
Death walked out and past the dog, he saw that there was light coming from the living room. Down the stairs and when he rounded the corner, he saw something, someone he never thought he would ever see. A beard, a big white beard, rosy cheeks, and a set of eyes twinkled at him. Red hat, fur trim, and the rest of him matched.
"Santa Claus?"
"Yes, sir." Santa nodded and pulled another gift from a large red bag and put it under the tree.
"This can't be right. Without you, the world will never be the same." Death pulled out his cracked, yellowing list and looked.
"Nope, afraid I'm not on that list tonight." Santa grunted and slid a large package up against the wall. Santa froze when he heard the creek of a bed.
"I don't understand." Death pocketed his list and then thumped his scythe on the carpet, it wasn't loud, but it did make Santa wince. "I was sent here to take someone."
"All you do is take," Santa looked over his shoulder, up at the ceiling, "and take." Santa brought his finger to his lips then pointed up.
"You weren't sent here to take anything, Death. Those days are over." Santa took off his hat and plopped it onto Death's head.
"What?" Death didn't resist when Santa pulled the scythe out of his hands. "You? You can't do this job, I won't let you."
The deep rumble of muffled laughter came from Santa, from behind his giant mitten over his mouth. "Me? Good heavens, no. Someone else is already doing your job, don't worry about it." There was another loud creak from upstairs. Santa nodded towards the door, they had to leave.
Death had seen his share of oddities in the world, but the snuffling and thumping of reindeer on a roof, with a sleigh parked there, was something he couldn't stop looking at. He wanted to tell Santa that they had to be quiet, but Santa lifted his giant bag and put it in the back with a thump.
Santa read what was on Death's face. "Don't worry, we're outside, they can't hear us." Santa lifted the scythe into the back and set it down.
"Why am I here?" Death asked while Santa brushed his big mittens together.
"I'm retiring, friend." Santa looked up and took a long breath. "You've taken enough, and you've left enough sorrow, now it's time for you to take over."
"What?" Death never said a lot, but he always had the words if he needed them, now they all went missing. Something inside him began to shine when he heard an actual '*ho ho ho*'-like laugh come from Santa.
"All those memories rattling around in that head of yours, they aren't *all* yours. They muddled up your brain, trust me, it takes a while, but it comes back." Santa reached into one of the giant pockets of his coat and pulled on a long piece of paper. "Here, take a look. Last name on the list tonight."
Death leaned over to see, then he pulled out the yellowing parchment that was his own list, the names were the same. "Who is this?" Death's boney thumb rasped up and down the side of the crumbling paper.
"It's you!" Santa's belly shook as he laughed. "That man is gone tonight though. The last gift I have to give tonight is for you." Santa reached into his sleigh and pulled out a wrapped parcel.
When Santa held it out to Death, memories sprung off the wrapping, it shined and glittered. Death, who had been numb for so long, filled with a happiness he never thought he'd feel ever again. Memories of sitting and just watching the lights twinkle of a Christmas tree, of racing to the living room and the frenzied crinkle of wrapping flying into the air. Family, friends, and kind strangers, all of that washed back over him and left only warmth. Then the epiphany that he would now be able to bring that feeling to people, it released a near frantic laugh. Death didn't notice that tears rolled down his cheeks once again, rolled down into his bushy white beard.
"Merry Christmas, Death. Oop, sorry, Merry Christmas, Santa."
[The End.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OhBeb4rlvw) |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | [In a dark chamber, in a chewed, wooden throne sat the end of all days, Death](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFxLFDP0I64). The list he held troubled him, it had only one name. A trouble that would never show on his gleaming skull or constant grin. Death had the memories of doing the job since time began, but it was the first time he felt anything about what he did.
One name on Christmas eve. There was a time and place and all Death had to do was be there. It didn't trouble him that he was working on Christmas Eve, he did it every year. Knowing nothing but the weight of time on every life, dates didn't mean anything, only the finite amount of days given mattered to every person he met. But a single name, it never happened before. Death reached for the scythe by his chamber door and the blade tapped the wall. The chime echoed even after the door closed behind him.
As always, everything seemed to spread out from where he stood. It was another street with houses similar to all the others. People trying to fit in by showing little differences, but they were always the same. Shoveled their sidewalks the same, same cars, same lights, same lives. Death moved up the sidewalk in silence, all doors were open to him and he went inside.
The floor was covered with all manner of footwear. Of course, there had to be guests, of all the luck, all these people were to wake up to a day they'd want to forget. In the living room, nothing, nobody stretched out on couches, maybe a basement. Through darkness, he wandered room to room. Found guests wrestling sleep on top of uncomfortable guest beds in the basement. None of them matched the name. Up the stairs in silence, into the parents room. Nothing.
One last room, the door was closed and an old dog lay on the floor. Death could see that the dog's time was almost up, it would be the dog's the last Christmas. The old guardian, who could barely see anymore, pushed himself up to a sitting position and whined. Death only nodded, sorry that the dog understood what must have been happening. The dog lay back down and sniffed at the long black robe as Death walked past into the room.
Toys, the floor strewn wall to wall with the toys of a little boy. Death looked over and saw that the bed was occupied by three children, they looked to be about the same age. Death only stood and thought, mornings after were always hard, always a new day where someone who wouldn't be there again. Over and over and they would always remember to ask about it when it came their time. There was never an answer to give. Confusion struck, none of these names matched the one on his list.
Death walked out and past the dog, he saw that there was light coming from the living room. Down the stairs and when he rounded the corner, he saw something, someone he never thought he would ever see. A beard, a big white beard, rosy cheeks, and a set of eyes twinkled at him. Red hat, fur trim, and the rest of him matched.
"Santa Claus?"
"Yes, sir." Santa nodded and pulled another gift from a large red bag and put it under the tree.
"This can't be right. Without you, the world will never be the same." Death pulled out his cracked, yellowing list and looked.
"Nope, afraid I'm not on that list tonight." Santa grunted and slid a large package up against the wall. Santa froze when he heard the creek of a bed.
"I don't understand." Death pocketed his list and then thumped his scythe on the carpet, it wasn't loud, but it did make Santa wince. "I was sent here to take someone."
"All you do is take," Santa looked over his shoulder, up at the ceiling, "and take." Santa brought his finger to his lips then pointed up.
"You weren't sent here to take anything, Death. Those days are over." Santa took off his hat and plopped it onto Death's head.
"What?" Death didn't resist when Santa pulled the scythe out of his hands. "You? You can't do this job, I won't let you."
The deep rumble of muffled laughter came from Santa, from behind his giant mitten over his mouth. "Me? Good heavens, no. Someone else is already doing your job, don't worry about it." There was another loud creak from upstairs. Santa nodded towards the door, they had to leave.
Death had seen his share of oddities in the world, but the snuffling and thumping of reindeer on a roof, with a sleigh parked there, was something he couldn't stop looking at. He wanted to tell Santa that they had to be quiet, but Santa lifted his giant bag and put it in the back with a thump.
Santa read what was on Death's face. "Don't worry, we're outside, they can't hear us." Santa lifted the scythe into the back and set it down.
"Why am I here?" Death asked while Santa brushed his big mittens together.
"I'm retiring, friend." Santa looked up and took a long breath. "You've taken enough, and you've left enough sorrow, now it's time for you to take over."
"What?" Death never said a lot, but he always had the words if he needed them, now they all went missing. Something inside him began to shine when he heard an actual '*ho ho ho*'-like laugh come from Santa.
"All those memories rattling around in that head of yours, they aren't *all* yours. They muddled up your brain, trust me, it takes a while, but it comes back." Santa reached into one of the giant pockets of his coat and pulled on a long piece of paper. "Here, take a look. Last name on the list tonight."
Death leaned over to see, then he pulled out the yellowing parchment that was his own list, the names were the same. "Who is this?" Death's boney thumb rasped up and down the side of the crumbling paper.
"It's you!" Santa's belly shook as he laughed. "That man is gone tonight though. The last gift I have to give tonight is for you." Santa reached into his sleigh and pulled out a wrapped parcel.
When Santa held it out to Death, memories sprung off the wrapping, it shined and glittered. Death, who had been numb for so long, filled with a happiness he never thought he'd feel ever again. Memories of sitting and just watching the lights twinkle of a Christmas tree, of racing to the living room and the frenzied crinkle of wrapping flying into the air. Family, friends, and kind strangers, all of that washed back over him and left only warmth. Then the epiphany that he would now be able to bring that feeling to people, it released a near frantic laugh. Death didn't notice that tears rolled down his cheeks once again, rolled down into his bushy white beard.
"Merry Christmas, Death. Oop, sorry, Merry Christmas, Santa."
[The End.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OhBeb4rlvw) |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Ere the eves were full of snow
A small amount falls off
There be no wind tonight to blow
The red man near the trough
He fiddles down the chimney fast
As silent as a mouse
And at the bottom knows at last
Another's in the house
One brings joy material
The other, sombre sorrow
The one in black, ethereal
Denies one their tomorrow
The man in red and spectre black
A fleeting glance they take
The red one's presents all will lack
From sadness Death will make
For one it's nice and naughty
To the other, matters not
He'll touch the father's body
And will send him to the plot
So Santa leaves an extra toy
A sad look on his face
Because tonight will see a special boy
Lose that he can't replace. | “What can you help out with?” She was cross-armed interrogating.
“I have a couple dollars in change.”
“Your bedroom puppy dog eyes don’t work on me anymore. How are you helping?”
“Look, I’ll stay with her while she’s here. Please.”
“No, no. Well. I have a date tomorrow. I’ll stay here with her tonight, you come in the morning. I need you here at six AM so I can get cleaned up and go to work.”
“Six? I have to ride my bike. I mean, it’s usually no big deal, but the snow, you know?”
“Grow up. Seriously. And get a fucking job.”
“Uh, one more thing? What about Christmas?”
“I’m not doing it here. The doctor said two or three days. Maybe she’ll still be here and you’ll get to spend the holiday together after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to fill out, since you can’t even manage to remember her information.”
*************************************************************************************
I had slept downstairs in the waiting area. I woke up, relieved the ex, washed my underwear in the sink and took a shower in the room’s adjoining bathroom.
I found a copy of Of Mice and Men in the waiting area. I read it aloud to her as she drifted in and out. She smiled when I pantomimed Lennie’s voice Bugs Bunny style.
I watched her finish her meals. Each time after I sang her to sleep. Then I'd eat the abandoned leftovers. I napped. I waited.
About 0200 a nurse came in for more blood samples.
“I’m gonna do this quick and quiet, she may sleep through it.”
She woke at the pinch. I stroked her forehead and cooed her back to sleep.
The nurse watched me smile down into her and said, "You're a good dad," and I said, "I'm tryin'," and I noticed, put a fuzzed memory to his voice, and he must've done the same coz we were looking at each other in the dim electric medicine.
I ventured, "Charlie Company? LAR?"
"Yeah. (my name)?"
"Holy shit, Doc! Doc (his name). I haven't seen you since..." And I flushed shame and looked at my laces.
"Yeah…”
We sat silent a moment, my head low.
“Doc, I heard…heard about it.”
“True story...” He tidied up his rolling phlebotomy station. “Got the peg leg to prove it.” He tapped a plastic THOK THOK.
“Doc, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, brother. You guys did what you could.” He snapped the gloves off and threw them in the trash.
“How do you…stay…? I know that sounds intrusive and harsh, but I heard…”
“Yeah. Pills. Hormone therapy.”
“And Doc J?”
He pushed the cart toward the door and stood weary. “He checked himself out this time last year.”
"..."
"..."
“Goddamn.” I cloudbursted a moment for the ruptured stores of guilt and failures.
And he came around and one arm hugged me cross my hunched shoulders and patted my head and walked out, closing the door slow and quiet, but right before I would never see him again, “It’s OK.”
*************************************************************************************
I washed up. I looked into her slumbered face. I exited and strolled over to the vending bank. Comfort candy and carbonated caffeine. Turned the corner back toward the room when I saw him, Sad Santa. He was miserable crying, snotting into his fake beard, wet and dried mucus streaked cheeks and I felt, ‘Self, that about sums it up.’ And he sorta floated beyond me and I stopped to chat up the chubby brunette reading a screen at the Nurses’ Station.
“St. Nick is all shook up. Isn’t it a bit early to be making rounds?” I trailed a finger after him.
“It’s his first holiday season here.” Matter of fact.
“Santas usually cry like that, though?”
“Well. Yes. Their first season, they’re all gung-ho. Most don’t come back.” She stopped typing a moment to glare emphasis into me.
“I don’t…” Shook my head and shrugged.
“This is a Children’s Hospital, right? Well, he just visited 516. 516 is checking out tonight. Before dawn. And that guy’s one of the stand-by Santas, come here to give the kid one last gift.” Terse and ice cold.
“Jesus Christ.”
“He’s the reason for the season. Now if you don’t mind, sir?”
*************************************************************************************
Scary was walking down toward 516. Scary was seeing them spilt into the hall, crowded and random, settling through the doorway, sifting sand grains until they all compressed into the room. I told myself not to rubberneck, but got caught by a few turned faces when I stopped to gawk at the fallen wrapping paper and I think a bald head and maybe a clutched teddy. It was all sobs and breathing machines. I hustled back.
*************************************************************************************
“Where did you go?”
“I went for a walk, baby.”
“I was afraid.”
“Me, too, baby. Sleep. Daddy loves you.”
LL |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
| “What can you help out with?” She was cross-armed interrogating.
“I have a couple dollars in change.”
“Your bedroom puppy dog eyes don’t work on me anymore. How are you helping?”
“Look, I’ll stay with her while she’s here. Please.”
“No, no. Well. I have a date tomorrow. I’ll stay here with her tonight, you come in the morning. I need you here at six AM so I can get cleaned up and go to work.”
“Six? I have to ride my bike. I mean, it’s usually no big deal, but the snow, you know?”
“Grow up. Seriously. And get a fucking job.”
“Uh, one more thing? What about Christmas?”
“I’m not doing it here. The doctor said two or three days. Maybe she’ll still be here and you’ll get to spend the holiday together after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to fill out, since you can’t even manage to remember her information.”
*************************************************************************************
I had slept downstairs in the waiting area. I woke up, relieved the ex, washed my underwear in the sink and took a shower in the room’s adjoining bathroom.
I found a copy of Of Mice and Men in the waiting area. I read it aloud to her as she drifted in and out. She smiled when I pantomimed Lennie’s voice Bugs Bunny style.
I watched her finish her meals. Each time after I sang her to sleep. Then I'd eat the abandoned leftovers. I napped. I waited.
About 0200 a nurse came in for more blood samples.
“I’m gonna do this quick and quiet, she may sleep through it.”
She woke at the pinch. I stroked her forehead and cooed her back to sleep.
The nurse watched me smile down into her and said, "You're a good dad," and I said, "I'm tryin'," and I noticed, put a fuzzed memory to his voice, and he must've done the same coz we were looking at each other in the dim electric medicine.
I ventured, "Charlie Company? LAR?"
"Yeah. (my name)?"
"Holy shit, Doc! Doc (his name). I haven't seen you since..." And I flushed shame and looked at my laces.
"Yeah…”
We sat silent a moment, my head low.
“Doc, I heard…heard about it.”
“True story...” He tidied up his rolling phlebotomy station. “Got the peg leg to prove it.” He tapped a plastic THOK THOK.
“Doc, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, brother. You guys did what you could.” He snapped the gloves off and threw them in the trash.
“How do you…stay…? I know that sounds intrusive and harsh, but I heard…”
“Yeah. Pills. Hormone therapy.”
“And Doc J?”
He pushed the cart toward the door and stood weary. “He checked himself out this time last year.”
"..."
"..."
“Goddamn.” I cloudbursted a moment for the ruptured stores of guilt and failures.
And he came around and one arm hugged me cross my hunched shoulders and patted my head and walked out, closing the door slow and quiet, but right before I would never see him again, “It’s OK.”
*************************************************************************************
I washed up. I looked into her slumbered face. I exited and strolled over to the vending bank. Comfort candy and carbonated caffeine. Turned the corner back toward the room when I saw him, Sad Santa. He was miserable crying, snotting into his fake beard, wet and dried mucus streaked cheeks and I felt, ‘Self, that about sums it up.’ And he sorta floated beyond me and I stopped to chat up the chubby brunette reading a screen at the Nurses’ Station.
“St. Nick is all shook up. Isn’t it a bit early to be making rounds?” I trailed a finger after him.
“It’s his first holiday season here.” Matter of fact.
“Santas usually cry like that, though?”
“Well. Yes. Their first season, they’re all gung-ho. Most don’t come back.” She stopped typing a moment to glare emphasis into me.
“I don’t…” Shook my head and shrugged.
“This is a Children’s Hospital, right? Well, he just visited 516. 516 is checking out tonight. Before dawn. And that guy’s one of the stand-by Santas, come here to give the kid one last gift.” Terse and ice cold.
“Jesus Christ.”
“He’s the reason for the season. Now if you don’t mind, sir?”
*************************************************************************************
Scary was walking down toward 516. Scary was seeing them spilt into the hall, crowded and random, settling through the doorway, sifting sand grains until they all compressed into the room. I told myself not to rubberneck, but got caught by a few turned faces when I stopped to gawk at the fallen wrapping paper and I think a bald head and maybe a clutched teddy. It was all sobs and breathing machines. I hustled back.
*************************************************************************************
“Where did you go?”
“I went for a walk, baby.”
“I was afraid.”
“Me, too, baby. Sleep. Daddy loves you.”
LL |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | “What can you help out with?” She was cross-armed interrogating.
“I have a couple dollars in change.”
“Your bedroom puppy dog eyes don’t work on me anymore. How are you helping?”
“Look, I’ll stay with her while she’s here. Please.”
“No, no. Well. I have a date tomorrow. I’ll stay here with her tonight, you come in the morning. I need you here at six AM so I can get cleaned up and go to work.”
“Six? I have to ride my bike. I mean, it’s usually no big deal, but the snow, you know?”
“Grow up. Seriously. And get a fucking job.”
“Uh, one more thing? What about Christmas?”
“I’m not doing it here. The doctor said two or three days. Maybe she’ll still be here and you’ll get to spend the holiday together after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to fill out, since you can’t even manage to remember her information.”
*************************************************************************************
I had slept downstairs in the waiting area. I woke up, relieved the ex, washed my underwear in the sink and took a shower in the room’s adjoining bathroom.
I found a copy of Of Mice and Men in the waiting area. I read it aloud to her as she drifted in and out. She smiled when I pantomimed Lennie’s voice Bugs Bunny style.
I watched her finish her meals. Each time after I sang her to sleep. Then I'd eat the abandoned leftovers. I napped. I waited.
About 0200 a nurse came in for more blood samples.
“I’m gonna do this quick and quiet, she may sleep through it.”
She woke at the pinch. I stroked her forehead and cooed her back to sleep.
The nurse watched me smile down into her and said, "You're a good dad," and I said, "I'm tryin'," and I noticed, put a fuzzed memory to his voice, and he must've done the same coz we were looking at each other in the dim electric medicine.
I ventured, "Charlie Company? LAR?"
"Yeah. (my name)?"
"Holy shit, Doc! Doc (his name). I haven't seen you since..." And I flushed shame and looked at my laces.
"Yeah…”
We sat silent a moment, my head low.
“Doc, I heard…heard about it.”
“True story...” He tidied up his rolling phlebotomy station. “Got the peg leg to prove it.” He tapped a plastic THOK THOK.
“Doc, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, brother. You guys did what you could.” He snapped the gloves off and threw them in the trash.
“How do you…stay…? I know that sounds intrusive and harsh, but I heard…”
“Yeah. Pills. Hormone therapy.”
“And Doc J?”
He pushed the cart toward the door and stood weary. “He checked himself out this time last year.”
"..."
"..."
“Goddamn.” I cloudbursted a moment for the ruptured stores of guilt and failures.
And he came around and one arm hugged me cross my hunched shoulders and patted my head and walked out, closing the door slow and quiet, but right before I would never see him again, “It’s OK.”
*************************************************************************************
I washed up. I looked into her slumbered face. I exited and strolled over to the vending bank. Comfort candy and carbonated caffeine. Turned the corner back toward the room when I saw him, Sad Santa. He was miserable crying, snotting into his fake beard, wet and dried mucus streaked cheeks and I felt, ‘Self, that about sums it up.’ And he sorta floated beyond me and I stopped to chat up the chubby brunette reading a screen at the Nurses’ Station.
“St. Nick is all shook up. Isn’t it a bit early to be making rounds?” I trailed a finger after him.
“It’s his first holiday season here.” Matter of fact.
“Santas usually cry like that, though?”
“Well. Yes. Their first season, they’re all gung-ho. Most don’t come back.” She stopped typing a moment to glare emphasis into me.
“I don’t…” Shook my head and shrugged.
“This is a Children’s Hospital, right? Well, he just visited 516. 516 is checking out tonight. Before dawn. And that guy’s one of the stand-by Santas, come here to give the kid one last gift.” Terse and ice cold.
“Jesus Christ.”
“He’s the reason for the season. Now if you don’t mind, sir?”
*************************************************************************************
Scary was walking down toward 516. Scary was seeing them spilt into the hall, crowded and random, settling through the doorway, sifting sand grains until they all compressed into the room. I told myself not to rubberneck, but got caught by a few turned faces when I stopped to gawk at the fallen wrapping paper and I think a bald head and maybe a clutched teddy. It was all sobs and breathing machines. I hustled back.
*************************************************************************************
“Where did you go?”
“I went for a walk, baby.”
“I was afraid.”
“Me, too, baby. Sleep. Daddy loves you.”
LL |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
| Ere the eves were full of snow
A small amount falls off
There be no wind tonight to blow
The red man near the trough
He fiddles down the chimney fast
As silent as a mouse
And at the bottom knows at last
Another's in the house
One brings joy material
The other, sombre sorrow
The one in black, ethereal
Denies one their tomorrow
The man in red and spectre black
A fleeting glance they take
The red one's presents all will lack
From sadness Death will make
For one it's nice and naughty
To the other, matters not
He'll touch the father's body
And will send him to the plot
So Santa leaves an extra toy
A sad look on his face
Because tonight will see a special boy
Lose that he can't replace. |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | Ere the eves were full of snow
A small amount falls off
There be no wind tonight to blow
The red man near the trough
He fiddles down the chimney fast
As silent as a mouse
And at the bottom knows at last
Another's in the house
One brings joy material
The other, sombre sorrow
The one in black, ethereal
Denies one their tomorrow
The man in red and spectre black
A fleeting glance they take
The red one's presents all will lack
From sadness Death will make
For one it's nice and naughty
To the other, matters not
He'll touch the father's body
And will send him to the plot
So Santa leaves an extra toy
A sad look on his face
Because tonight will see a special boy
Lose that he can't replace. |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
|
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | He paused in the course of his duties - something he never did, by tradition - and turned towards the fireplace.
"I said, hello, again, old friend.", the large man in the red suit said. He took a couple steps forward from the fireplace, leaving a trail of soot-prints on the ground, and removing black gloves. He reached up, and adjusted his glasses.
"Don't see each other too often any more, you and I, do we?", he said, proceeding to the milk and cookies that had been so carefully left for him, collecting the carrots there into his pocket.
The figure in the black hood, as was his way, only watched.
The man in the red suit turned back to him, and sighed. "You're here for the girl, right? Don't suppose it's one of the parents? A grandparent, over for the holiday?"
The figure in the black hood only watched.
"How long does she have?"
After pausing for a moment, the figure lifted an hourglass from beneath it's cloak. The hourglass was mostly empty overall, and barely any sand filled to top half; perhaps twenty minutes worth, at most, and probably less.
The jolly soul adjusted his glasses, again, and sighed. He nodded. "Alright. Alright. Well. Alright. I ... I know you have your way. I'll just be on mine, then?"
The figure in the black hood only watched.
Despite his bulk, the man in red's footfalls were quiet as a church-mouse, and he walked carefully towards the bedroom. He opened the door silently, as the figure in the black hood turned to watch.
Moments later, the excited sound of a child's voice came from the room. After half a minute, the man in red emerged again, with a cherub-faced girl, not even two yet, held by the hand. The jolly man lead her to the couch.
"Sit, now!", he said, a laugh to his voice. The girl, smiling broadly, nodded, and climbed onto the couch to obey. The jolly man winked.
"I'll leave just a little something. I'm not sure people are going to much care for opening gifts tomorrow ... but in time, perhaps.", he said. The little girl nodded, even if she was unsure what the mythical figure before her might mean.
She spared a glance towards the figure in the black hood, as the man in red paused to watch as she pointed. The young girl, without fear, smiled up towards him, and the man in red chuckled.
"Yes, yes. That's a good attitude, there, little one.", he said, his voice a laugh, and he walked to the couch, and sat.
The girl curled into him, yawning, and he chuckled again, then yawned himself.
The figure in the black hood only watched.
"It's just for a moment.", the man in red explained. "Just ... sitting, for a second. Letting her, well, you know. Let her have a moment."
The girl nodded off, her head on the jolly man's lap. Her gentle snores filled the room for a moment or two, and then, silence.
Santa sighed, and stroked her hair once, before easing himself up.
"Well. Didn't seem to hurt. Small mercies, hm? Small mercies.", he said, his eyes filling with tears.
The figure in the black hood glanced down, at the young girl holding his hand, that the man in red could no longer see. She looked up, her eyes bright, and shining.
"Small mercies.", the jolly man in red said.
Then, with sigh, and a twinkle in his eye,he laid a finger at the side of his nose, and gave a nod, and flew up the chimney.
The figure in the black hood only watched, then glanced down at his small charge.
"'ppy Chrissimast!", she said. |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | "Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."* | The night was cold. Grant entered the living room to embrace the sweet scent of pine and the soft glow of the fireplace. The room featured a lavish tree baring an extraordinary abundance of neatly wrapped presents. Grant found little Jacob sitting at the sofa with a toy truck resting on his lap. The boy's eyes seemed fixed to the mantle just above the fireplace, though it seemed that was not what he was truly viewing. His vision penetrated the mantle and stared straight into oblivion.
Over the past month, the poor tike had been in this state for at least 3 times a day. Constantly staring out to nothingness like it held the key to an amazing secret the world chose to hide. Viewing him in this depressive state did nothing but fill Grant with pure dread as he witnessed his son slowly drift from reality. Knowing Jacob wouldn't respond to his voice immediately, Grant went down and sat beside the boy.
"How's planet z?" Grant asked.
The boy did nothing for another ten seconds, then slowly cocked his head.
"Okay champ, it's time to hit the hay. You got a lot of presents to open tomorrow!" He lifted the boy from his seat as he rose up himself. Jacob Glanced at the presents before gazing into grant's eyes before monotonously saying "Okay."
It was a silent trip to his bedroom. Snow began to fall in the night sky as he was slowly placed on his bed and under the covers. As Grant exited the dark room and silently closed the door, Jacob stared into the darkness before him.
He had no one to play with, no one to relate with, and no one to live for. The boy lost interest with his toys since he had no one to turn to and share his experiences. He noticed his dad and mom attempt to keep him busy and provide him a fun day, but it wasn't the same.
The blankets were warm and crisp. Jacob turned his body to the window and plowed his head onto the pillow. A tear rolled down his temple. Jacob blinked from the saltiness and noticed a strikingly dark figure standing in the shadows. Jacob was filled with fear and dread. His mind became stiff as with his body. He wanted to look away and hide under the comfort of his covers, but his eyes remained intent on this unknown person. The house vibrated fiercely.
Footsteps filled the room but the figure remained static. The window frame slid wide open as a tremendously huge old man with a large beard as white as snow hopped in. The man furiously panted for a moment while he figured out a way to close the window. Jacob laid there motionless, unable to breath from the fear.
Staring at the man closing the window, he was able to discern a solid red coat lined with white fluff. There seemed to be a black utility belt around the waist. The old man turned directly to the black figure.
"I was almost burned to death yet again!" The man chuckled. "They should make it a law to turn off your dang fireplaces, not only is it a fire hazard, but it really makes it hard for one to slide down a chimney safely!"
The figure stood still with no response.
The old man turned to face Jacob. Jacob cowered in fear.
"...And where are my manners! Jacob, if you don't know already, I'm Nick, but most call me Santa" The old man sent a warming smile. Jacob stared, unable to smile from the shock. He slowly sat up.
The dark figure was still in the corner.
"Jacob, I'm sorry but I don't have a present in my sled for you. I know what you've been wishing in your heart for the past month and well, it doesn't exactly follow the rules." Santa explained, "But this Christmas, I've decided to eh... 'bend the rules'"
Jacob just stared at Santa.
Santa continued, "I've struck a deal with my ol' friend here and we decided to do something we've never did before. Trust me my boy, This gift will be pretty good I think."
The dark figure moved. Jacob cowered yet again as the it walked closer, crossing the moonlight shining through the window. The thing sported a purely black robe with a hood concealing the face in its own shadow. It also held a long staff with a blade erecting from the top of it. Then it stopped just in front of Jacob. Flooded with fear, he scuttled back, pinning his spine against the wall. Santa laughed.
The figure extended a long, bony hand into a cut in his robe and hunched. The room went dark as the figure seemed to absorb any light left in the room. Jacob closed his eyes, protecting himself with the force of his eyelids. Then something plowed right on his bed and began to savagely rip through the sheets directly toward him.
Jacob clenched his eyes tighter, but realized he face began to become covered in slobber. He opened his eyes to reveal his dog Spot that had passed away. His true dog that was by his side ever since he was born. His true partner in crime that would annoy mom. His true dogzilla that would commit chaos with his toys. His true friend.
Tears streamed Jacob's face as he hugged his Spot, trying to control the ongoing leaps and the painful whips of his tail. Jacob looked back up only to realize that the figure had mysteriously left, it was only Santa in the room now.
"You weren't the only one that was in need, you dog there seemed rather lonely too. It's not his time yet, so here's another chance to be with him. I think he's in better hands now" The old man winked and slipped out of Jacob's room.
Jacob continued to try to control the ecstatic Spot. |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind. | The night was cold. Grant entered the living room to embrace the sweet scent of pine and the soft glow of the fireplace. The room featured a lavish tree baring an extraordinary abundance of neatly wrapped presents. Grant found little Jacob sitting at the sofa with a toy truck resting on his lap. The boy's eyes seemed fixed to the mantle just above the fireplace, though it seemed that was not what he was truly viewing. His vision penetrated the mantle and stared straight into oblivion.
Over the past month, the poor tike had been in this state for at least 3 times a day. Constantly staring out to nothingness like it held the key to an amazing secret the world chose to hide. Viewing him in this depressive state did nothing but fill Grant with pure dread as he witnessed his son slowly drift from reality. Knowing Jacob wouldn't respond to his voice immediately, Grant went down and sat beside the boy.
"How's planet z?" Grant asked.
The boy did nothing for another ten seconds, then slowly cocked his head.
"Okay champ, it's time to hit the hay. You got a lot of presents to open tomorrow!" He lifted the boy from his seat as he rose up himself. Jacob Glanced at the presents before gazing into grant's eyes before monotonously saying "Okay."
It was a silent trip to his bedroom. Snow began to fall in the night sky as he was slowly placed on his bed and under the covers. As Grant exited the dark room and silently closed the door, Jacob stared into the darkness before him.
He had no one to play with, no one to relate with, and no one to live for. The boy lost interest with his toys since he had no one to turn to and share his experiences. He noticed his dad and mom attempt to keep him busy and provide him a fun day, but it wasn't the same.
The blankets were warm and crisp. Jacob turned his body to the window and plowed his head onto the pillow. A tear rolled down his temple. Jacob blinked from the saltiness and noticed a strikingly dark figure standing in the shadows. Jacob was filled with fear and dread. His mind became stiff as with his body. He wanted to look away and hide under the comfort of his covers, but his eyes remained intent on this unknown person. The house vibrated fiercely.
Footsteps filled the room but the figure remained static. The window frame slid wide open as a tremendously huge old man with a large beard as white as snow hopped in. The man furiously panted for a moment while he figured out a way to close the window. Jacob laid there motionless, unable to breath from the fear.
Staring at the man closing the window, he was able to discern a solid red coat lined with white fluff. There seemed to be a black utility belt around the waist. The old man turned directly to the black figure.
"I was almost burned to death yet again!" The man chuckled. "They should make it a law to turn off your dang fireplaces, not only is it a fire hazard, but it really makes it hard for one to slide down a chimney safely!"
The figure stood still with no response.
The old man turned to face Jacob. Jacob cowered in fear.
"...And where are my manners! Jacob, if you don't know already, I'm Nick, but most call me Santa" The old man sent a warming smile. Jacob stared, unable to smile from the shock. He slowly sat up.
The dark figure was still in the corner.
"Jacob, I'm sorry but I don't have a present in my sled for you. I know what you've been wishing in your heart for the past month and well, it doesn't exactly follow the rules." Santa explained, "But this Christmas, I've decided to eh... 'bend the rules'"
Jacob just stared at Santa.
Santa continued, "I've struck a deal with my ol' friend here and we decided to do something we've never did before. Trust me my boy, This gift will be pretty good I think."
The dark figure moved. Jacob cowered yet again as the it walked closer, crossing the moonlight shining through the window. The thing sported a purely black robe with a hood concealing the face in its own shadow. It also held a long staff with a blade erecting from the top of it. Then it stopped just in front of Jacob. Flooded with fear, he scuttled back, pinning his spine against the wall. Santa laughed.
The figure extended a long, bony hand into a cut in his robe and hunched. The room went dark as the figure seemed to absorb any light left in the room. Jacob closed his eyes, protecting himself with the force of his eyelids. Then something plowed right on his bed and began to savagely rip through the sheets directly toward him.
Jacob clenched his eyes tighter, but realized he face began to become covered in slobber. He opened his eyes to reveal his dog Spot that had passed away. His true dog that was by his side ever since he was born. His true partner in crime that would annoy mom. His true dogzilla that would commit chaos with his toys. His true friend.
Tears streamed Jacob's face as he hugged his Spot, trying to control the ongoing leaps and the painful whips of his tail. Jacob looked back up only to realize that the figure had mysteriously left, it was only Santa in the room now.
"You weren't the only one that was in need, you dog there seemed rather lonely too. It's not his time yet, so here's another chance to be with him. I think he's in better hands now" The old man winked and slipped out of Jacob's room.
Jacob continued to try to control the ecstatic Spot. |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | Santa and Death stared at each other straight in the eye. They had both arrived in the middle of the night and were now standing in the living room.
“You’re here for the kid aren’t you?”
“Yep, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Ah bullshit, I hate it when this happens. Would you be kind enough to come back a week later?”
“No can do.”
“Can’t you just take his life after tomorrow then? So that he can have one last happy Christmas with his family?”
“Sorry, the list says 24th of December, so today it is.”
“You’re a bastard, I hope you know that.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, and so am I, and my job is to make people happy one day of the year and you’re ruining that.”
Death and Santa both made their way upstairs to the child’s room.
“You know it’s not only the kid’s life that you’re ruining. You’ll also be destroying his parents’ soul on Christmas day. They’ll never be happy again on this day no matter how good the gifts I bring them are. I’ll have to write the entire family off.”
“Not my problem.”
“Don’t you have a heart?”
“As a matter of fact I don’t.”
“That explains it.”
They’re now both on the child’s room, and Death is sharpening his scythe as he looks down upon his victim still peacefully asleep in his bed.
“Is there no way I can convince you not to take him?”
“Do you want to play a game for it?”
“What are the stakes?”
“Your own soul.”
“I’d better not then.”
“Suit yourself.”
Death, having finished his preparations, is about to take the take the child’s last breath when he suddenly stops mid-swing.
“What happened?”
“There’s something wrong.”
“What’s wrong?”
“On my list it says that the soul I’m taking is fourteen years old. This child is only twelve.”
“So it’s not the child?”
“No, it’s not the child.”
“Who is it then?”
“Well, let me check again… It’s the dog.”
“The dog?”
“Yeah, the dog.”
“That’s going to ruin their Christmas.”
“Better than the child though. They’ll only hate Christmas for the next couple of years rather than forever.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re welcome.” | "Well, well, look who the reindeer dragged in! Jolly ol' Saint Nicky and his big ol' sack o' chokin' hazards. Ya know, you send a lot o' business my way every year."
"Oh, stuff it, ya sneaky twat! I haven't got time for your shit. My thermos is drained of coffee, and I've still got another three hundred million households to visit. You know, give or take...I'll probably have to unwrap most of the chocolaty stocking stuffers to get through the night. And they wonder why I'm so goddamn jolly 'round the waist..."
"Sheeeeeeit, Nicky. Truth be told, I'm about to make your night just a li'l bit easier. Ya see, little Angela down there's next on *my* list, too. See what I'm sayin'?"
"Yeesh. Really? I mean, what're the odds?"
"I know, man. Two billion kids down here 'n' we run into each other? Crazy...You think it was the Big Man's idea? Think he planned this?"
"Think of all the souls up in Heaven, Grim. And they all need work, need to keep busy. And He needs to keep them busy. Which means Heaven's full of managers. Which means nothing that's planned ever gets done. Not down here, anyway."
"True, true. You're probably right. Still, strange coincidence. So how do we slice this here pickle?"
"Fuck it, you can have her. One less chimney for me to squeeze my lumpy ass through..."
"Damn, Nick. That's ice-cold. Ain't you all about a Merry Christmas? Ain't you even gonna try 'n' convince me to step back for a few days, ya know, so the family can be a family on Christmas Day? I mean, I ain't gotta do this now. I ain't on a schedule."
"Look at my fucking wind-burned face, Grim! Look at the skin peeling off my back from sliding up and down against all that brick for the past twelve hours! Like I give a fuck about that little shit-stain down there!"
"Whatever, man. Ease up. Ain't telling ya how to do your job."
"Sorry, Grim. It's like I said, I haven't got the time. If it's any consolation, she was on the naughty list anyway. But these days, even that gets you a Wii game. Oh, speaking of which, you want a copy of *Just Dance 2014*? No way I can play it..." |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind. | "Well, well, look who the reindeer dragged in! Jolly ol' Saint Nicky and his big ol' sack o' chokin' hazards. Ya know, you send a lot o' business my way every year."
"Oh, stuff it, ya sneaky twat! I haven't got time for your shit. My thermos is drained of coffee, and I've still got another three hundred million households to visit. You know, give or take...I'll probably have to unwrap most of the chocolaty stocking stuffers to get through the night. And they wonder why I'm so goddamn jolly 'round the waist..."
"Sheeeeeeit, Nicky. Truth be told, I'm about to make your night just a li'l bit easier. Ya see, little Angela down there's next on *my* list, too. See what I'm sayin'?"
"Yeesh. Really? I mean, what're the odds?"
"I know, man. Two billion kids down here 'n' we run into each other? Crazy...You think it was the Big Man's idea? Think he planned this?"
"Think of all the souls up in Heaven, Grim. And they all need work, need to keep busy. And He needs to keep them busy. Which means Heaven's full of managers. Which means nothing that's planned ever gets done. Not down here, anyway."
"True, true. You're probably right. Still, strange coincidence. So how do we slice this here pickle?"
"Fuck it, you can have her. One less chimney for me to squeeze my lumpy ass through..."
"Damn, Nick. That's ice-cold. Ain't you all about a Merry Christmas? Ain't you even gonna try 'n' convince me to step back for a few days, ya know, so the family can be a family on Christmas Day? I mean, I ain't gotta do this now. I ain't on a schedule."
"Look at my fucking wind-burned face, Grim! Look at the skin peeling off my back from sliding up and down against all that brick for the past twelve hours! Like I give a fuck about that little shit-stain down there!"
"Whatever, man. Ease up. Ain't telling ya how to do your job."
"Sorry, Grim. It's like I said, I haven't got the time. If it's any consolation, she was on the naughty list anyway. But these days, even that gets you a Wii game. Oh, speaking of which, you want a copy of *Just Dance 2014*? No way I can play it..." |
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | [WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time. | With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind. | Santa and Death stared at each other straight in the eye. They had both arrived in the middle of the night and were now standing in the living room.
“You’re here for the kid aren’t you?”
“Yep, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Ah bullshit, I hate it when this happens. Would you be kind enough to come back a week later?”
“No can do.”
“Can’t you just take his life after tomorrow then? So that he can have one last happy Christmas with his family?”
“Sorry, the list says 24th of December, so today it is.”
“You’re a bastard, I hope you know that.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, and so am I, and my job is to make people happy one day of the year and you’re ruining that.”
Death and Santa both made their way upstairs to the child’s room.
“You know it’s not only the kid’s life that you’re ruining. You’ll also be destroying his parents’ soul on Christmas day. They’ll never be happy again on this day no matter how good the gifts I bring them are. I’ll have to write the entire family off.”
“Not my problem.”
“Don’t you have a heart?”
“As a matter of fact I don’t.”
“That explains it.”
They’re now both on the child’s room, and Death is sharpening his scythe as he looks down upon his victim still peacefully asleep in his bed.
“Is there no way I can convince you not to take him?”
“Do you want to play a game for it?”
“What are the stakes?”
“Your own soul.”
“I’d better not then.”
“Suit yourself.”
Death, having finished his preparations, is about to take the take the child’s last breath when he suddenly stops mid-swing.
“What happened?”
“There’s something wrong.”
“What’s wrong?”
“On my list it says that the soul I’m taking is fourteen years old. This child is only twelve.”
“So it’s not the child?”
“No, it’s not the child.”
“Who is it then?”
“Well, let me check again… It’s the dog.”
“The dog?”
“Yeah, the dog.”
“That’s going to ruin their Christmas.”
“Better than the child though. They’ll only hate Christmas for the next couple of years rather than forever.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re welcome.” |
[WP] In a world where athletes, scientists, soldiers and more are put out of work by superhumans, one person makes a stand against obsolescence. | Josh Devlin had been a soldier his entire life. Ever since he was a 16-year-old, and was expelled from every school his parents forced him into. He was always a delinquent. So his parents thought the army would be the perfect place for him. And it just so happens, it was. He quickly rose through the ranks. Became a colonel at the age of 21. Led his squadron to victory during the battle at Moscow. A major contributor to the U.S. victory in the 3rd World War.
Josh Devlin is currently 43-years-old. He is sitting alone in his darkly lit room, holding a picture of him and his squad. Tears were pouring down his face. He has never been one to cry, but he couldn’t hold it back. Not today. It was the anniversary of that day after all.
That day, 6 June 2106, marked the day that Josh Devlin lost everything. His job, the glory he had acquired and most of his squad. 6 June 2106, marked the success of the Superman Project. The U.S. government has been working on a serum for 20 years. And on this day they finally perfected it. It was a serum that strengthened the human genes to their maximum potential, and then exceeded it. A subject was chosen and then cloned. The United States Army today is nothing but 30 000 clones. Josh found this whole thing disgusting. 30 000 soulless, cookie cutter robots. That’s all they were. There was no humanity in them. The United States President called them “War Machines”.
Soon the real, human soldiers became obsolete. Most of them went back to their families and got random jobs. But Josh’s squad was different. They couldn’t get any other jobs. They were soldiers. They didn’t know how to do anything but obey orders and kill their enemies. Josh’s friends, who to him were more like brothers, had all committed suicide. They were all gone and he was left alone. He couldn’t bare it.
It is now 7 June, and the year is 2116. A man hijacked a news chopper and is flying towards the United States Army’s HQ. The 2000 War Machines stationed there all await orders from the President. The orders arrive. “Shoot on sight”. The War Machines man the walls of HQ. They are armed to the teeth. RPGs, Gatling Guns, Plasma Blasters…They are ready.
Josh approaches the HQ. Rockets are launched at the hijacked chopper. Josh is prepared. He grabs the old jet pack that he managed to smuggle from his days as a soldier and jumps out of the chopper. The rockets smash into chopper and it goes down. The former soldier flies towards the base as fast as he can. By the time he is noticed, it’s too late. He smashes into the center of HQ and the bombs he had strapped to his body go off.
Josh Devlin was always a soldier. He was born a soldier, he lived as a soldier and he died as a soldier.
| In the bunker beneath Fort Steale, the two of them waited. Sy tapped on the chair he sat on, gripping the remains of felt and cushion stuffing escaping the seams. He had something like that at the old office. Used to have.
To his left, by the monitors, Kyle tapped his foot, to no apparent rhythm. Just tapping for the sake of it.
The screens flickered on. Showtime.
Sy cleared his throat once and waited for the signal from Kyle.
Kyle raised his thumb and whispered "good luck."
And under the new blank stare of the camera, Sy nodded, more of a blink in Kyle's direction, detectable only to his young colleague, as millions of people watched on.
"Citizens of Earth. I am Doctor Sy Nieves. I do not have much time so you must listen. As you know, several months ago, we .... I ... we... opened a Pandoras box of sorts. Into the Nether, we went, as researchers, as men of science and discovery, and as always, we sought to find something that would change the world for the better. Always for the better."
A tear began to well up, one that only Kyle could see.
"It was there that we..."
He closed his eyes-
"We saw the face of God."
-and opened them.
"And then we brought it back here. Because we thought it was a good thing. And now that face has become the beacon of hope and the future through these short months. But there is more to him than his benevolence would make it seem. My research partners and I were collecting data on this...thing...until we were shut down. They told us that we were no longer necessary. That we were no longer useful now that it was here. All our problems were solved, all our faults had solutions now. One solution."
The side of the bunker tore open from outside. Metal and dirt everywhere. A smiling figure in a cape stepping forward. In the light, Sy could see the emptiness in the smile, he tried to turn to his audience, one that he knew would be watching, tried to make them see it. But the thing was just out of frame, just outside the field of view and the realm of possibility.
And Sy's face faltered, not so much defeat as an echoing sadness. But as he felt the grasp of Captain Amazing clench around his throat, even before its hand made contact, Sy played his part.
Snivelling. Begging for his life. Pleading cowardice, though he had none left to plead for.
A quick flash. And Kyle was dead. Unceremonious, unforgiving, a broken neck and a soft corpse lay to one side of the crowded bunker.
Captain Amazing stood over the little scientist man in glasses. "I don't appreciate being called an 'it,' Doc."
And he tore into the Doctor's flesh with his hand. Hands that the doctor had given him. Flesh borrowed, now never to be repaid.
Sy gurgled and gasped on blood. A slow death, that was what awaited him. Despite his hopes for a better humanity, he was doomed to this. He felt the warmth creep out of him, almost pooling towards the Captain, still smiling that cocky, empty smirk in the fading light.
But that is not what the people would see. Their feed told a different story. As the Captain approached the snivelling, pathetic and devious Doctor Knieves, he laughed a hearty laugh, echoed by those watching at home or on the street, without their realization.
"Doc, I think it's time you stick to studying plants and leave the nuclear bombs alone. Less hazardous to your health," he glanced around robotically at the bunker, "and you'd get a lot more sun."
Another smile. Another laugh. Another worldwide echo.
"You've won this round, Captain Amazing!"
The words that never escaped Sy's mouth.
"But I'll have the last laugh next time!"
But were heard nonetheless by billions. Even those not watching heard it. Spoken to them through the backs of their heads by a figure in a red cape.
"I wouldn't count on that, Doc." The figure in the cape took the camera off the ledge, snapping it into pieces. The feed was lost to the public, but they saw what they wanted to see. The Captain. Breaking in, kicking ass, and flying out into the horizon with the bad guy in chains.
And Sy felt his last breaths escaping as the figure turned to leave for good. He prayed for his people as they watched the skies, feeling safe, knowing that their protector would save them. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Are you sure you haven't lost it?"
"You're looking right at it," and she points to her phone.
I nod, but I meant her mind. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | He could no longer bear the distance that had grown between them. "I hate this," he moaned.
Without looking up from breakfast, she mumbled, "Yeah, my eggs are runny, too." | I turn on my phone, one ring.. two rings.. I breathe in slowly to allow for a moment of stress to pass by. My friend answers the phone for the third time.
"Can you hear me now?" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Are you sure you haven't lost it?"
"You're looking right at it," and she points to her phone.
I nod, but I meant her mind. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | Baseplate do you read? I've been out here for weeks. It's so cold.... | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Are you sure you haven't lost it?"
"You're looking right at it," and she points to her phone.
I nod, but I meant her mind. | I pulled forward to the second window as instructed. Woefully, my big mac and large fries were nowhere to be found. In their place were 48 apple pies and I could not be more excited. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | I pulled forward to the second window as instructed. Woefully, my big mac and large fries were nowhere to be found. In their place were 48 apple pies and I could not be more excited. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | I pulled forward to the second window as instructed. Woefully, my big mac and large fries were nowhere to be found. In their place were 48 apple pies and I could not be more excited. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | I pulled forward to the second window as instructed. Woefully, my big mac and large fries were nowhere to be found. In their place were 48 apple pies and I could not be more excited. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | I pulled forward to the second window as instructed. Woefully, my big mac and large fries were nowhere to be found. In their place were 48 apple pies and I could not be more excited. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Are you sure you haven't lost it?"
"You're looking right at it," and she points to her phone.
I nod, but I meant her mind. | "Daddy, stop it!"
"No, go away!"
"Let me go!" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | "Daddy, stop it!"
"No, go away!"
"Let me go!" | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Can I smoke, do you mind?"
"No, please." The man responded, and immediately regretted, as he attempted to suppress a few hysterical fits of coughing. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "You know I think we have a communication problem," I said.
No response from her still, she just keeps staring into the distance.
"Fine you can just stay there then," I yelled as I threw the corpse back into the coffin.
| My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | He could no longer bear the distance that had grown between them. "I hate this," he moaned.
Without looking up from breakfast, she mumbled, "Yeah, my eggs are runny, too." | My mouth is so numb. Her body is radiant, and I'm unworthy to even call her mine. I could never tell her that. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | Do you love me? You never tell me how you feel. I'm breaking up with you, Helen Keller. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | Mailbox:empty. No missed calls. Sounds of silence. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | "Are you sure you haven't lost it?"
"You're looking right at it," and she points to her phone.
I nod, but I meant her mind. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Bryan turned back towards me, wincing and cradling his left arm. A peculiar expression slowly broke across his face as he spilled to the floor, the dry erase marker rolled out from his palm, clicking softly across the tiles. Behind him, the whiteboard displayed in lazy handwriting: "Distribution wealth the average top for CEOs." | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Only two people left in the world, including me. I finally found that other man. If only I spoke Russian. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | He could no longer bear the distance that had grown between them. "I hate this," he moaned.
Without looking up from breakfast, she mumbled, "Yeah, my eggs are runny, too." | "Everything's gonna be great now that we've graduated, huh?"
"Yeah, there's going to be a lot of big stuff ahead of us," said Jesse as he folded up the letter and put it into his jacket pocket.
The draft letter was dated December 19th, 1969.
| |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "Can I smoke, do you mind?"
"No, please." The man responded, and immediately regretted, as he attempted to suppress a few hysterical fits of coughing. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | A man was horribly mutilated by a bus today on the corner of 5th Avenue. His name was Matthew Walters and he was 34 years old. His brother says that he was on his way to their usual meeting place several blocks over, even though they weren't meeting today. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | She saw me shopping with my female cousin. I was buying her the ring. She didn't know that was my cousin. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | My hands closed over hers, and I knew there was not much time left. She looked into my eyes and I stared back into hers, drinking them in for the final time. As I whispered goodbye her eyes closed, and to this day I do not know if she heard me. | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "You know I think we have a communication problem," I said.
No response from her still, she just keeps staring into the distance.
"Fine you can just stay there then," I yelled as I threw the corpse back into the coffin.
| With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | He could no longer bear the distance that had grown between them. "I hate this," he moaned.
Without looking up from breakfast, she mumbled, "Yeah, my eggs are runny, too." | With all that is going on, they say letters are still being delivered, even as far away as Gettysburg. Daniel will be ever so pleased to learn he's to be a father.
Clara Belle Abbot, 1863 | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | "I ate that bitch."
"Dude, it's fine, everyone hates somebody."
I just nodded at his ignorance and picked at my teeth, where chunks of skin and hair were stuck. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | The massive clock took up over half of my bedroom. Fucking hard-of-hearing genie. | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. | |
[FF] Three sentences max: Failure to communicate. | Parlez-vous français? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Do you speak English? | I finally asked my crush of five months out on a date. She said yes. She killed herself yesterday. |
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