Happy Holidays - Two Christmas Flash Fictions
December 25, 2011 flash fictionChris the Nuclear Kid and I wrote flash stories for Lawrence Simon's podcast Christmas Spectacular. If you like some of the background music you've been hearing, check out Kris Knight's "A Scary Little Christmas". Great stuff.
Take a read (and a listen) to ours and the rest of the stories either below or at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. If the player bits don't work, you can directly download them: Audio for Chris' story / Audio for Steve's Story / Alternate Music for Steve's story
Timmy stamped his foot in the snow. “It was a big tree, with lots of decorations. When I got home from kindergarten, it was gone!”
The policeman raised his eyebrow. “You think there's a Christmas tree thief?”
“Yes!" Timmy clenched his jaw. "It was the Grinch!”
The police officer chuckled. “The Grinch is imaginary.”
Timmy's face grew hotter. “No he's not!”
A green man jumped from the roof. “The kid's right.” He took a sack off his shoulder, shoved the policeman into it, then looked at Timmy.
"Who needs roast beast?" he said, and shoved Timmy into the sack too.
"They don't tell you that part," the man says. He is a shabby olive-skinned man outside the store Christmas display, smelling slightly of wine.
I shiver in the cold, wanting to get on to the coffee shop in the office lobby, but I never quite got the hang of brushing past people. "What part?"
"In the stories. They don't tell you about the dark side."
I start to walk past as I talk. "Sure they do. Luke, I am your -"
He shifts in front of me. "The dark side of love. The part where you give yourself completely, you know?" He looks me over, hard. "No, you don't."
"Look, I gotta..."
"You can love them, and no matter how much you do, they might not love you back."
I look around for a cop, someone, anyone, but they're all used to the big city and ignore us.
"Sometimes it's worse, and they they love you for a while - but then one day it's all different and weird. And you try to go on, but it's hard."
I try bullying past, but he grabs my arm, eyes flashing, the twin wounds in his hands dripping onto my jacket.
"But you can't let that stop you from trying to love again." He stares at the little porcelain infant in the Nativity. "You can't let that stop you from trying to love again."