Calling all drabblists!
The festive season is almost upon us and what better way to celebrate than with twelve of the finest Christmas themed drabbles? I am therefore looking for a drabble for each of the twelve days of Christmas to be posted here on my blog and for each one I post the winner will receive a £10 Amazon gift card.
To enter simply post your drabble in the comments section below. You can enter more than once, but only post the same drabble once. The prize is for each drabble used so you could win more than once. The drabbles should be related to Christmas in some way but can be from any genre - although extreme erotica should probably be avoided :-)
I'll pick the winners and post the first drabble on Christmas Day - so get writing!
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ReplyDeleteOrnithophobia is defined as the irrational fear of birds, so what why not send someone, who has the aforesaid fear and whom you dislike intensely, twenty three birds over a period of seven days after Christmas. This has been done before and is well documented the old English folk song “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. If this does not cause the recipient to turn into a gibbering wreck, why not send a DVD of Alfred Hitchcock’s film “The Birds”. That should do the trick. And if all else fails send over a minibus load of pipers. No need to thank!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete1st Day of Christmas
ReplyDeleteOn the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me …
One dismissive comment, one look of disdain, one flimsy excuse of her whereabouts and a stone cold tea in the microwave!
So on this cold winter’s day, I decided to follower her for answers. She was watched like a hawk as she boarded her bosses’ yacht. I saw the boat was rocking, I found it truly shocking and now she’s chopped into pieces and stuffed into her stocking.
So on the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; that feeling of finally being free.
First Day of Christmas
ReplyDelete“What the heck is this?”
Jessica had to walk around the large package that was left at her door. There was a tag hanging on the outside. Lifting it she read it, rolling her eyes.
To my love
A gift for Christmas
Chris
Sighing, she opened the door and dragged the package inside. It took some muscle but she finally got it by the tree. She was tempted to just leave it wrapped but something smelled sweet and really, why was it chirping? Tearing it open, she laughed.
“A partridge in a pear tree, really? What’s next, two French hens?”
Peace on Earth, Good Will to All Trees
ReplyDeleteThe big fir stood tall, watching over his siblings; mere saplings really. Heaven.
Then the men with chainsaws arrived; cutting a swathe through the forest. Soon it was his turn. The harsh metal teeth ripped into his bark. They tore through his trunk. He fell; felled. He screamed silently for his mother; Mother Nature.
He was tossed unceremoniously onto a truck with other fallen comrades.
***
Then he was standing again, but the sky was gone. No wind. No friends. His roots amputated. Glittery foreign objects weighed heavy on his branches. This was hell on earth.
“Please let me die.”
neat :-)
DeleteThe Teddy Bear by Jonathan Hill
ReplyDeleteIt’s Christmas morning and Santa’s at his North Pole residence, bound and gagged. Sadly for him, it’s not a present from Mrs Claus.
He’s been tied up for hours, yet all the little boys and girls awake to find their stockings filled. Odd considering Santa’s been engaged. Odder still that the same adorable teddy bear has been left in every stocking.
Across the world, the children hug their new bears, lift them to their ears and appear, for a moment, to listen. Then each child puts the toy down, walks softly downstairs and opens the drawer containing the carving knife.
A Colourful Christmas by Jonathan Hill
ReplyDeleteI saw so many colours last Christmas. The lush green foliage of the wreath. The glittering gold baubles on the tree. The bright red jumper on Uncle Jim’s back. The eyes of the watching snowman as black as coal, its nose carrot-orange. The silvery blue of the fairy lights, which chased one another along the windows as if in a never-ending game. The bright red nose of Uncle Jim after a glass or three.
However, I didn’t see the black ice, or the crimson trail that stained the white roadside.
This Christmas, I don’t see colours. I simply don’t see.
Limp Stockings by Jonathan Hill
ReplyDeleteAcross the world, families gathered in living rooms, watching their television sets in dismay, children in tears, Christmas ruined.
‘SANTA HAS FAILED TO DELIVER’ ran across the news channels.
Charlie walked into his mother’s bedroom to see if she was awake.
“Bloody hell!” he yelled, seeing a large man handcuffed to the bedhead.His top half was dressed for delivering gifts. His bottom half was, well, fleshy.
“I’m glad not everything is as limp as my stocking,” Charlie said. “And it looks like,” he continued, his eyes drawn to the sheets, “that in this house Santa has most definitely delivered.”
Christmas time by Kath Middleton
ReplyDeleteChristmas time, sherry and wine.
Gin and tonic? That'll be mine.
I do love a whisky and ginger or two.
Someone say cider? Don't mind if I do!
Rum is so warming, my nose is quite red.
One port and lemon won't go to my head.
Here comes the Queen's speech. Let's stand for a toast.
Champers is best, dear (such a generous host).
Let's have a brandy, it helps you digest
All that plum pudding. I'll loosen my vest.
I stretch by the fireside a glass in my hand
My socks are on fire! I'm too tipsy to stand.
Frost at Christmas by Kath Middleton
ReplyDeleteIt was two o'clock on Christmas morning but Tom and Ben were too excited to sleep. Their eyes ached with tiredness but their minds fizzed with the excitement of it all.
Ben, at seven, was the older of the two, and beginning to see cracks in the Father Christmas story. "Do you think he's real, though," he whispered. "How can it be true?"
Tom was on the verge of tears at the thought. "He must be!" he said. "I believe in him!" Looking out of the bedroom window later, they saw hoofprints and sledge tracks on a glittering, moonlit lawn.
Imagination Maintenance.
ReplyDeleteEvery year Granddad dressed up as Father Christmas, in bright red, with a curly nylon beard and a pillow for a belly. Taking his place in the glittering grotto, he “Ho, ho, ho’ed” and handed out sweeties to the children. Daddy stood with painted cheeks and pointy shoes and ushered the children in.
In on the secret, we knew they weren’t the real thing.
They worked as Father Christmas’s helpers because Santa couldn’t be in every Grotto all at once. He was too busy making toys.
We even saw their contracts, sent all the way from Santa’s Cottage, North Pole.
Some excellent drabbles here so far - keep them coming! :-)
ReplyDeleteA Blessing In Disguise
ReplyDeleteTears flowed freely down wet cheeks as without the chosen fairy there could be no blessing of the Christmas tree.
Invisible to those below a sequined fairy flew around the tree, trying to avoid the bombardment of pine needles.
“It is no use child; the tree will not accept you.”
“But I can be good mother.”
“Too late! We must seek another.”
“Who?”
“Tinkabel.”
“My sister? She’s so dull.”
“But she is pure.”
As tiny Tinkabel flew upwards the tree immediately embraced her.
The people would be renewed with magic.
“Remember your lesson daughter.”
“All that glitters is not gold.”
Magic In The Dark
ReplyDeleteTurning off the Christmas tree lights, the couple held hands as they ascended the staircase.
As the upstairs lights faded away the tiny bell rang and the toys came out to play.
“As you know it’s a special night,” said Teddy Bear. “Father Christmas brings toys for the children.”
“But there are no children Teddy and no one has played with us for years,” said Cuddly Bear. “And what happens if the magic disappears?”
“Have faith my friends, for I believe that very soon this house will be alive with tiny footsteps and magic.”
The sparkling bell tinkled with joy.
The Final Battle
ReplyDeleteHeads shake in the cold, the air thick with water vapour as we all exhale. Hands almost blue, we rub together in feeble attempts to keep the blood flowing. Feet moving on hard ground we stomp alternately, our frozen boots already cutting into tender skin. Chests heave with exertion as overworked and overtired lungs gasp for air.
The voice of our captain echoes in the still air, urging us to conquer our fears, and not to take a backward step. We must push forward and win.
Why do I do this?
This is definitely my last Boxing Day rugby match.
The Present by Jonathan Hill
ReplyDelete“Billy, come for your present.”
“Why not bring it down here? I’ll open it in front of everyone else.”
Toby hesitated. “I can’t.”
“Can’t?” Then Billy understood. It must have been too big to bring down.
“It’s in my room,” said Toby.
The pair excused themselves and walked upstairs, which caused Billy’s heart to pound. He didn’t know why; he wasn’t unfit.
Toby opened his door. Both stepped inside.
“There’s nothing here,” said Billy.
“Look up,” whispered Toby.
Above Billy, completely out of place, hung a piece of mistletoe. Yet Billy felt it the most natural present to find there.
Ritual
ReplyDeleteShe watches him run around the room. From cupboard to table to bookcase. He’s huffing and puffing, his face getting redder by the minute.
“Need any help, honey?”
He waves his hand dismissive. “No, no…”
She sighs. A yearly ritual, his last minute dash to find the keys.
“Dear... on your desk, next to the lamp.”
“Ah, thanks love!” Grabbing the keys he sprints out the door.
She watches him takes off, his sled climbing higher and higher while the reindeer pull with all their might. Just in time to deliver the presents to all the kids in the world.
Left Overs.
ReplyDeleteThe bowl of sprouts was piled high, emitting an evil day old stink.
“I’ll show you something,” said great uncle Ray as he took the bowl in his withered hands and carried it to the counter, “you’ll love them after this.”
I doubted that very much but didn't have anything else to do.
Cut up and mixed with leftover mash, he fried the sprouts till golden brown. I was actually starting to feel hungry.
Finally, he placed a perfectly fried egg on top. He smacked his lips.
I reached for the plate.
“Make your own,” he grinned, “This is mine.”
Jack Frost
ReplyDeleteIt was Christmas Eve and all I wanted was to get home. I let out a foggy sigh, and cursed public transport. An old man with pure white hair watching me. He sat on the bench, both hands gripping a red and white striped cane.
“Looks like snow hmm?”
“Not really,” I said, looking up, the dark sky was clear, “Do you like snow?”
“Oh yes,” He smiled. His eyes were silver, “You?”
“S’pose.”
“That’s good.”
He snapped his fingers and flurry of snow began to fall. I stared in disbelief.
“Did you-?”
The frosty air glittered. He had gone.
More good drabbles!
ReplyDeleteOn the Twelfth Day by Kath Middleton
ReplyDeleteTwelfth night is also known as Old Christmas and has collected its own traditions. They say if you don't take down your decorations by twelfth night you have to keep them up till Shrove Tuesday, burn them and cook your pancakes on the fire. So...
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I put into my loft,
Twelve twists of tinsel
Eleven flashing Rudolphs
Ten tarnished baubles
Nine nodding Santas
Eight aimless angels
Seven strings of lights
Six silly snowmen
Five gold bells
Four frazzled fairies
Three fake wreaths
Two Santa hats...
And I'll vacuum up the pine needles for months.
Yule Sauna by Marko Susimetsä
ReplyDeleteHome is scrubbed clean, Yule straws spread onto the floors. In the gloom outside, a sauna stands waiting.
A family crosses the snow covered yard. They shed their clothes, climb onto the benches.
The father pours water onto the stove. Heat wafts up, enveloping the children and elderly alike. The beat of birch vihtas cleanse the bodies for the celebrations.
At twilight, a lantern leads the family away. The father tosses one more ladleful onto the stove and leaves the door ajar. Steam escapes into the night air.
An invitation.
As the lantern recedes, elves and ancients enter the sauna.
Midwinter by Ulla Susimetsä
ReplyDeleteSnow buries field and forest. Darkness shrouds the world. The day barely dawns before dying into dusk.
Tonight, the longest night, the darkest night, the dead walk among the living.
In these dark hunting grounds of merciless cold, ancestors are always close, remembered, revered. Tonight, once the feasting is over, food and ale is left on the table for the dead to enjoy. Fire glows in the sauna oven long after the living have bathed: the dead may come and warm their icy limbs.
I slip into the smoky darkness. Ahh, so much better than the grave in frozen ground!
It's going to be tough to choose - but keep them coming! :-)
ReplyDeleteHappy Christmas, Dad by Jonathan Hill
ReplyDelete“I know it’s not much, but I had to get you something, didn’t I? Mum won’t like me giving you them, what with your diabetes, but I won’t tell if you won’t. They’re your favourite. You once complained of them playing havoc with your teeth but that didn’t stop you scoffing the lot. Make these last, eh?”
I shivered as the wind unpicked my coat’s belt. Dad didn’t seem fazed by the cold. He didn’t even mind when a robin came and relieved itself over him.
“Happy Christmas, Dad,” I said, carefully resting the bag of toffees against the headstone.
poingant
DeleteSanta Clause by Bryan Thomas (a.k.a. The Duck)
ReplyDelete"All out, brothers!" said the shop steward elf at the North Pole.
The elves stopped wrapping presents.
"What's going on!" said Santa.
"Clause 15 of our contract says, 'Elves deserve reward for their contribution'.
"What will it take to get you all back to work?"
"Reinstate the porn channel," said the shop steward, a Woodbine
dangling precariously out of the side of his gob.
"Consider it done," said Santa.
There was a collective "Whoot!" from the elves.
As Santa set off for the night shift, the elves settled down to watch 70s skin flick classic, Debbie Does the North Pole.
mwahahaha
DeleteAll Because by Kath Middleton
ReplyDeleteHe was getting too old for this. He flew low over the building, carefully timing his drop from the sleigh. His overweight body fell through the air and he braced himself for landing. He let his knees give and rolled onto his side on the glittering roof. Pulling himself upright, he adjusted his grip on the precious burden. He shuffled towards to fire escape which threaded down the side of the building, his black boots and mittens ensuring a good grip. He lifted the window and, pushing aside his beard, chucked in the chocks. And all because the lady loves...
:-)
DeleteMemories by Marko Susimetsä
ReplyDeleteGaracg ran, breath freezing onto his muzzle hair. The moonlit forest was untouched but by the rare animal. It was Garacg’s world. Its creatures his to hunt down and eat. The cold winter kept the humans huddled inside their strange dwellings.
A sound carried in the air.
Garacg hesitated and stopped by the trunk of a frozen tree. A village ahead.
A door opened. Someone staggered out. For a moment the sound became clearer, its notes familiar.
He shivered. Memories. Of a time when he had sung Yule songs.
Garacg howled at the moon, trying to drive the pain away.
Sinister Snowman by Bryan Thomas
ReplyDeleteSeven-year-old Lucy got out of bed and crept across her room to the window. It was 3:00 am and she didn't want to wake her parents. She pulled one of the curtains open, just enough to see the front garden. He was still there. The snowman she had built with Jessica and Amy that afternoon. Jess had given him a stubby, Chantenay carrot for a nose. Amy had used some bark chippings to make a toothy smile, but before they could give him eyes, it had started to snow - heavily. Now, he had eyes... and they were watching Lucy.
LOL cool
DeleteThanks, Michael.
ReplyDeleteForagers by Marko Susimetsä
ReplyDelete‘They have good meat down there,’ Bones said with envy.
Jack nodded, looking down the hill. The enemy patrol had been lucky to find a farmstead that had not been raided already. The bloody tracks on the trampled snow told of at least three butchered pigs. The scent of grilled pork made his stomach growl.
But, one had to make do with what one had. Jack looked back at Bones who was stripping the two sentries they had caught unawares.
‘Don’t worry. When they send men to relieve these guys, we’ll have enough to bring proper Christmas to our men.’
Santa's Little Helper by Ulla Susimetsä
ReplyDeleteStockings? Check.
The little red cap? Check.
A festive ribbon? Check.
I tiptoe through the silent night. At the nursery door I listen, smiling. So much for staying up, seeing the reindeer fly, spying Santa with the presents!
I sneak into the living-room. There, by the fireplace, waits the man. Stuffing the stockings, he whispers, ”The kids didn't wake?”
”They're fast asleep.”
He chuckles. ”You brought the rest of the presents?”
”And one for you to unwrap now.”
He turns. His gaze devours my attire: elf's cap, lace stockings, the ribbon that covers so little. ”Merry Christmas, darling.”
Nativity
ReplyDeleteMany moons ago, a bright light shone in the heavens.
Far, far away, a group of shepherds watched their flocks by night, and gazed up in wonder at the bright star.
Somewhere nearby, at the outskirts of the nearby town, a man led his pregnant wife into a cow byre, for her waters had broken and there was no room at the inn.
Soon, the cries of the new-born filled the night sky, drawing the shepherds down from the hills. A shepherd’s life was indeed boring.
Three wise men stayed far away, as they had seen the deadly meteor’s approach.
The Best Christmas
ReplyDelete“This will be the best Christmas ever,” Sheryn said, clutching the £20 note they'd found in the gutter.
Harry agreed. “We'll get chicken and veggies to roast … plum pudding, custard, and a bottle of wine too.”
Harry was more pleased for his wife. She deserved much more than he'd been able to give her during their twenty-three years of marriage.
On the way to the supermarket they passed homeless people, warming their hands around an old incinerator.
Next day, able to share their salami sandwiches and orange juice, Sheryn smiled at her husband. It was the best Christmas ever.
nice one Jennie
DeleteThe Santa Nick Hordes
ReplyDeleteSanta waddled through his busy workshop, whistling. There were lots of toys. How could one fat man scale so many chimneys in one night?
Thoughtful, he noticed a side door covered in warning stickers. He gave a jolly shrug and wandered through.
The warehouse was packed with glass cylinders, each filled with bubbling fluid and an indistinct humanoid shape.
Santa caught a movement in the nearest cylinder. A twinkly eye stared out from under a red hat which bore a single white bud on its tip, waiting to blossom into a pompom .
It croaked. “Ho ho – killlll meeee – ho.”
Only two more days to get your entries in!
ReplyDeleteThe Midnight Visitor
ReplyDeleteIt’s the night before Christmas, and all through the house, nothing is stirring, not even a mouse...
Tomas Óg lies in bed, wide awake and full of excitement, praying silently for the new X-Box, a racing bike, and also a surprise. He always loves getting a surprise.
The clock in the hall strikes midnight, and his heart beats faster when he hears rustling downstairs. Pulling the covers over his head, he pretends sleep.
In the morning, he rushes downstairs to open presents, squealing with excitement, only to find the space under the Christmas tree bereft of gifts.
Little Walter heard banging and got out of bed to investigate. With his father at sea, he was the man of the house.
ReplyDeleteHe could hear breathing – breathing that was much heavier than his mum’s. He grabbed his baseball bat and peered into the hallway.
After establishing that the hallway was clear, Walter snuck out of his bedroom. The noises seemed to be coming from his parents’ room. Bravely, he stepped forwards.
Walter saw a naked man lying on top of Mummy. He hurried back to bed as quietly as he could. Father Christmas was much younger than he expected.
Santa’s Letters
ReplyDeleteSamantha slipped away from the party, preferring a hot bath and a bottle of red.
After a soak, she headed into the lounge, I-pod blaring, and settled down to play with her rabbit. Soon, she had drifted away into her fantasies.
Startled, by a hand carressing her thigh, she looked up, dropped the rabbit on the floor and tried to hide her embarrassment. Standing over her was her flatmate, Melanie, and Melanie’s boyfriend. Both were clearly drunk.
“Mind if we join your little party?” purred Melanie. Graeme’s eyes were lust-filled.
Apparently, even naughty girls and boys get their Christmas wishes.
Moving up in the World
ReplyDeleteThe elf was tired of his dead-end job in Santa’s sweatshop, so he quits, in search of a better life. However, all the toymaker jobs pay minimum wage.
Then one day he notices a sign in a shop window: ‘Tired of the rat race? We are looking for nimble fingered recruits for a new venture. No previous experience required.’
He calls the number and is invited for an interview. There, he’s given a number of tasks to complete to assess his abilities. He passed them with flying colours.
He’s taken on as an apprentice pickpocket and soon becomes filthy rich.
Jonathan’s Evil Plan
ReplyDeleteJonathan has always had a competitive nature. He can’t help it. But when Michael holds a competition for the Twelve Drabbles of Christmas, Jonathan’s creativity goes into overdrive. Not happy to submit one of two drabbles, he enters forty in order to stack the odds in his favour.
Not content with his chances, he then hacks into Michael’s website and liberally edits the other competitors works. A spelling mistake here, a disparaging comment about Cthulhu there, and he even adds a bit of penguin porn to the better entries.
Chuckling evilly to himself, he waits to be declared the winner.
The Greatest Gift of All.
ReplyDeleteThe greatest gift is the gift of life. That and our health and people to love us for who we are.
Watching the children coming off the plane after their long journey, my eyes water with a mixture of joy and sorrow. They are the forgotten victims of man’s stupidity, and they pay for it with their lives.
But seeing their smiling faces, and the joy of the people who have come to Dublin Airport to meet them, lifts my heart.
These Chernobyl children have been given a month’s holiday in Ireland, and maybe granted an extra year of life.
These few humble words are dedicated to all who put aside their own lives for a few weeks each year to support the Chernobyl Childrens Trust: www.chernobylchildrenstrust.ie https://www.facebook.com/ChernobylChildrensTrust?fref=ts
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS
ReplyDeleteCovered in snow the old stone house stood serene on the moor.
Inside, the last glass had been drunk, the lights extinguished and all were safely abed.
But one little girl had other ideas. She crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. Putting a torch in her pocket she dressed for the cold. Exiting the house with a fresh turkey under her arm Angela James followed the lane to the adjacent farm.
Leaving it safely outside, she whispered.
‘I am sorry that your parents have lost everything Lizzie, but at least now, you can have a proper Christmas dinner.’
Time to read through them and picks the winners.
ReplyDelete