A New Christmas Tradition

Another old post from Writing.com. I had a hard time writing flash fiction back in that time. I hope you like one of my early writing attempts.

 

“Admit that this is a really strange idea.”

“Why? I don’t see anything strange about it.”

Bill blinked and looked at the door they were standing in front of. “You don’t see anything strange about randomly putting stockings on stranger’s doors?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
Ann glanced back at him and dimpled a smile. “No, I think it’s a splendid idea.”
“You do know I was joking, right?”

“Well, I turned your joke into happy reality. You know, I think we should do this every year. Yes, and hang wreaths too! For the houses that we know have elderly people living there! It would really make them feel loved, I think! And next year the stockings….we can look up people with kids, and make sure it’s full of small toys and candy. Don’t worry, I can make some of it, and save money that way. But I got such a good feeling about this!”

Bill blinked and let the words roll over him, as his wife talked on. She was always so generous, and he loved that about her. But did she really need to try to set up new Christmas traditions every year? He gave this one two years, tops.

“You know, I love you. Right?” He said instead, taking her hand as they walked back to the car. Ann flashed a brilliant smile at him. “Every day I am alive, I know you love me.”

He flinched and shook his head. “Um, that was very…cheesy.”

“You love cheesy.”

“On Mac and cheese, sure.”
“Oh really?” She arched an eyebrow. “And who is normally up reading romance novels?”

“Umm….you?”

“Uh huh. Try again. I read real books.”

“Sure, because sonnets are not cheesy at all.”

“Not when written by Shakespeare, it’s not.”

“Okay, okay. I like cheese.” Bill groused. “Good thing for you.”

She shook her head and let the matter slide. This evening was definitely a good mix of new and old traditions. The stockings lining the street was very new, and she loved it. But the clashing of wits was as old as their friendship. And she wouldn’t have it or him any other way.

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An Opinionated Woman on Christmas

Another Christmas Flash Fiction from the past, this time only a couple of years. I hope you like it.

 

The tree stood on the front lawn. In every other way, it sparkled in Christmas splendor. But it was outside. Mrs. Frank had views about cutting down trees. A star graced the top, shining and covered in tin foil. Presents hung on every branch to keep them from getting too soggy on the ground. Mrs. Frank had views on messes. Beside the tree was a sign. “Help yourself to one present. Only one. I may not see you being greedy, but the one that was born today will.” Mrs. Frank had views on both charity and greed.

I know that the threat, it is real. Last year, I took two presents. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I was wrong. Later that year, I was sick for a long time. Mrs. Frank may have had nothing to do with it. Jesus might have had nothing to do with it. But this year, I won’t take any chances.

Yes, Mrs. Smith certainly had views on a lot of things. Do not take a life unless it is absolutely unavoidable, such as in the case with flies. Do not do anything without forethought and planning. Charity is best done with a personal touch. Greed corrodes the heart of the taker, but generosity builds one up.

Yes, Mrs. Smith is pretty strange and opinionated. She had a great many views. Our parents say to one another when they think we cannot hear, that she has a good many more than she needed. To many of them, she is too opinionated, too forceful, too concerned with things that don’t matter or shouldn’t to adults needing to make a living.

Yes, Mrs. Smith is pretty strange and pretty opinionated. And we kids loved her

A Visit Full of Troubles

I have another flash fiction, this one with a historic bend that I hope you will like. Personally, I don’t think it is my best. I hope I can now do better. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this blast from the past, in more ways than one. ^_^

 

She walked into the parlor, her dark silk dress rustling about her in waves of lace and ribbon. Fury radiated from her. She walked to her chair and flung herself down. A young woman looked up from the low chair near the fire with an encouraging smile and a worried look in her brown eyes. The clock had just finished chiming the hour.

“Did it go as bad as that? Didn’t Miss. Amare like the cake?”

“Don’t talk to me about cakes! The whole call was a mess.”

“Oh dear, and after all that work too.”

“Yes, but that Jenny is a haughty, hateful thing and there is no rest with her!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, either!”

“Mary!”

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t deal with you too.”

“Well, can you deal with yourself?” Alice snapped.

“Myself? Oh, don’t get all huffy, but get me some coffee, there’s a dear. My nose is practically blue from the cold outside.” Mary said, starting out sharp, and ending up sounding contrite and wheedling.

“Get your own coffee.” Alice returned, going back to her book. “I don’t have time for crosspatches!”

“I suppose I am being cross today.”

“Yes, you are.”

“But that girl is such a bear, nothing makes her happy.”

“I know, and I am sorry. But I’ll go apologize.”

“Me? Why should I?”

“Because you might have made her crosser if you were this cross there.”

“I….maybe you are right. Will you come with me?”

Alice put the book down and nodded. Together the two linked arms and headed back to the entry where their wraps were. Mary sighed. “You’re a good girl you know that?”
Alice smiled her mischievous smile. “You didn’t say that yesterday.”

“Because putting snow in my bedding was nasty!”

A Snowy Evening

Originally for a contest from Writing.com. I liked it and wanted to save it as a winter surprise. So, surprise! An early attempt at romantic writing just for you!

 

The snow fell outside in a thick curtain of white. The thickening dusk and the rising winds were not encouraging anyone to linger outside long. The crunch of boots on snow and the jingle of bells filled the air. Two dark shadows made their way through the thinning crowds. Pausing at a dully glowing frosted glass door, the taller silhouette paused, and grasping the handle, let his companion enter. She rushed in and stood nearby as he walked in and closed the door behind. She took off her hood, showing a pretty face with the rosiest cheeks and reddest nose one had yet to see. Her rosy mouth grinned.

“I didn’t think we could make it!” She giggled.

“I’m still not sure.” He said, tartly as he blew on his fingers. “Blasted gloves. I was certain they were in my pockets.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. I do wish mine would fit.” She said, taking one of his red chapped hands and rubbing it between hers.

“I’ll be lucky to get a thumb in one.” He agreed. “Don’t worry about it, Lizzie.”
“I can’t help it when I see you suffer.”

“I don’t. All of them are still there.” He grinned, waving his other hand and waggling the five fingers there. “See? No harm was done. But I could kill for a good meal.”

“That is what we are here for,” Lizzie answered, with mock primness. Then she giggled again. “And I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be to appease it that Red Fern Café. They got the best soups here!”

George grinned at her exuberance and followed her to a booth near the back. He wasn’t so sure about the soup, but he loved the fireplace right now. He was much colder than he let on and when they sat down, he sank next to the warmth with a grateful sigh that was impossible to repress. He felt her eyes on him but didn’t meet her gaze.

After a moment, she sighed and pulled off her gloves with a resigned air. He closed his eyes and rested for a moment. The murmur of patrons around them and the click of cutlery filled the air. A delightful aroma of sage and savory enlivened it, and nearer came the smell of wood smoke, the sound of a cheerful crackle of wood and flame.

He didn’t open them again until a pert, high voice asked “Good day, welcome to Red Fern Café. I’m your waiter for today. Do you know what you would like to drink?”

“I’ll like tea, please,” Lizzie said her voice more subdued than earlier.

He glanced at her in worry and was relieved to see she was distracted as she was looking over the menu. “And I’ll have a hot chocolate.” He added.

“We are out.” The waitress said, apologetically. “Sorry, with the snow, we were out almost an hour after we opened.

He frowned disappointed, then shrugged. “Coffee then, is that out?” he asked offhandedly.

“No, we usually keep too much, to be honest!”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” He said, not quite able to keep his voice free from the sarcasm he felt. He felt his companion’s hand touch his arm and bit his tongue. He didn’t want to make the waitresses’ life any more difficult. He felt rather than saw her leave. Then he glanced over at Lizzie. Her big blue eyes were on him, looking worried. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

“I’m glad we are here.” She said, giving his hand a tender squeeze.

He took hers in his own and nodded. Putting it to her lips, she gave it a soft kiss.
“Not so glad about any hot chocolate.” He sighed, pouting.

“Don’t think of it.” She answered, just as playful, as she slid out of her seat and taking a new one in his lap. “We just have to make you warmer in…other ways.”

He wrapped his arm around her as the young lovers stared dreamily into each other’s eyes. The snow fell outside in thick waves, as the wind picked up. Later, walking back would be impossibly difficult. But for now, there is no outside world, just the one they see in each other’s eyes. The fire filled the background with a cheerful crackle, and soft music drifted through the air like a tuneful fairy. Lizzie blushed and lowered her head on his strong shoulder. “Did you know you’re pretty when you’re embarrassed?” he teased.

She wrinkled up her nose at that, and laughed, her blush deepening. “Oh, you’re just a big flirt!” She teased back. “What will I do with you?”
“I have a few good ideas.”

“They are good ideas to you, maybe. But I’m going to behave myself, thank you just the same.”

“Ouch! You don’t even know what they are.”

Lizzie frowned. “Your right, I’m sorry.”

George shook his head and gave her another gentle squeeze. “I was only joking. Don’t get all shy on me.”

“I can’t tell sometimes.”

He opened his mouth to say something. Then his ears perked up. “Listen, a new song is playing.”

“Oh, I live this song!”

“Yeah, me too.” He paused for a moment, then asked hesitantly. “Wouldn’t it be great if it was our song?”

“What do you mean our song?” She asked wonderingly. “Why would it be our song?”

He silenced her by leaning over and kissing her. That was how the waitress found them, as she brought the drinks over. She saw two lovebirds sitting in one chair, kissing passionately, lost to the world outside.

A Morning Routine

Hello again. This was another flash fiction attempt from Writing.com. This one actually won the contest for that day! I forgot if it was because of a really low turnout, or if it was good enough. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this flash fiction from 2010!

 

The bird balanced delicately on the barb wire fence, his clawed feet holding him in place as delicately as a lover’s embrace. He sang as if his heart would burst, regardless of snow or cold or even his own drab brown color. A mouse had been by sometime in the night. Its tiny footprints were imprinted in the snow near the fence. Brian only hoped there were no owls floating about that night.

He looked around again, and sighed. Then he made his way to the barn, slowly and painfully. He used to care for such things. But now…now it seemed silly. Besides, he had something to do other than stare at mouse tracks. He made his way to the back of the barn, and looked around as though he lost something. Then, with a grunt, he bent down, and placed the flowers on the small mount in the snow. A small stone rested there. It read “Rose Edgewood, 1910-2008”.

“It ain’t apple, but ya know they ain’t n bloom yet, Rosy.” He grumbled, straightening up again and shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I guessed what with the season and all, that holly’ll make you happy nough. Christmas was right nice, with the kids coming in and all. Mary is specting in the spring. And John’s thinking of coming back to help with things.”

He spend ten more minutes talking to his wife. Then he went to do the chores, with a lighter step and a hopeful look in his eye. His morning ritual was over, and his day went on. Mouse tracks and bird’s songs did have a place in his day again.