Last week’s Monday Motivations set you a Christmas theme. So, as the big day is almost upon us, I’ll stick with the seasonal theme. But, as I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you three new themes to choose from:
- The Gift
- Magic
- Snow
I’d love to see what where your creative minds take you, so get writing! Any format is accepted.
Last week’s challenge was to write a story or poem on the theme Christmas Eve.
Here are your delightful offerings:
EDC Writing‘s piece will captivate you:
“He wasn’t there, at least I don’t think so a moment ago?” she half thinks, half speaks.
“Who?” little sister says, answering her own question looking from the ‘pay here’ queue to see what kind of man has got big sister’s attention.
He is there alright, in every sense, lean, just under six foot, curly close cut hair, caressing silk, eyes dancing over candy stripes, somehow not quite him. Little sister does a double take, big sister now walking over to him.
His fingers caress each tie in turn. “A female perspective?” she enquires.
“Yours always” his reply. She takes a subtle blue design, almost on tiptoes leans in to place around his neck. A faint stir, foot to foot his balance shifts, hands unbutton her coat free, both sway, gap between as nothing, little sister’s eyes popping.
The music, no one remembers what or if any, only movement, theirs, timeless, of another world, classic ballroom made sensual, borderline erotic. This world stands still, time gives time for free.
Arm’s length now, tie her hands to his, he bows, escorts her to the line where all completely mesmerised. Little sister’s mouth wide open, seeing yet not believing, big sister dancing in that way, with him.
“Who is he?” she at last gasps …
“No idea,” big sister smiles …“he comes to me this time every year.”
They turn around, blue tie as his eyes nowhere to be seen, present given … and received.
***
Jason Moody has written a super story:
Christmas Eve
7:37am – I had a really funny dream last night. I was on the moon being chased by three-legged, multi-coloured aliens. I must stop binge-eating Wotsits before bed.
8:02am – Mum’s in the kitchen dancing, rather badly, with Dad, Fran’s sat at the table, glued to her phone. She hasn’t touched her bowl of cereal, and its Sugar Puffs!
8:04am – Fran’s in a mood. I think she might have had an argument with Mark. I say good morning, but she just grunts. She sits and types at great speed. There’s a constant beeping on her phone. It’s well annoying.
8:48am – Mum has spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm Fran down. I think Mark dumped her by text. He won’t answer her calls. I always thought Mark was a knob anyway.
9:37am – Washed and dressed. I’ve gone for red today. I’m also wearing my Rudolph jumper, complete with bells. I know fashion.
10:02am – Dad’s taking Fran into town. I wish I was, but I can’t. I ask him where he’s going. ‘Wait and see,’ he says. That gets me a little excited.
10:57am – Mum’s funny when’s she trying to park. She’s even funnier when she can’t do it.
11:14am – Doctor Marriard has had a haircut.
11: 15am – I hate chemotherapy.
6:12PM – I’m a bit groggy. Fran is on the sofa – surprise, surprise – on her phone. Mum and Dad are in the kitchen.
6:14pm – Mum fusses me and says that we’re ordering pizza in tonight. For the first time all day, Fran cracks a smile. What could be better? I’ll tell you, Auntie Sharon’s on her way too! She always stays Christmas Eve.
8:06pm – We’re all stuffed. Auntie Sharon and Mum are giggling in the kitchen. I’m feeling a little tired, the Christmas tree lights are blurry and twinkly at the same time. I imagine the next time I open my eyes, it’ll be Christmas.
***
Sarah doesn’t often write poetry; I think she should definitely write more:
Christmas Eve Acrostic Poem:
Christmas is the time of year, to bring to men all good cheer.
Humour makes the heart feel glad, Christmas carols are sung so don’t be sad.
Reindeers eat their magic feed, to help out Santa as he has need.
Indulgence lingers everywhere, hidden in mince pies, chocolates and eclairs.
Santa has his sleigh all readily, so he can deliver presents speedily.
Tree is decorated, tall and fine, to warm the hearts of the family that dine.
Mistletoe hung above the front door, Christmas kisses for all who call.
After dinner, the story is read, ’twas the night before Christmas,’ then off to bed.
Sleep is difficult on Christmas eve, but soon it comes and brings sweet dreams.
Early in the morning, the whole household awake, opening bundles of presents with a shiver and a shake.
Very cold this Christmas day, snuggle down by the fire and play.
Early evening – time for Christmas TV, laughing and joking, oh what glee.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!😀
***
Simon Farnell brings you a ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ tale with a difference!:
https://sfarnell.wordpress.com/2016/12/17/monday-motivations-mechanoid-christmas/
***
And here’s Rajiv Chopra with his festive instalment in the Mary Jane series:
A month passed, and the girls were nowhere to be found. Frodo was now the prisoner, and Spidey had had him bound in a tight web. Sam would come by everyday, smirk, and spit in his face.
“You thought you were so clever, do you?” he would say, while gloating. “You will never get her. Neither will that damned, stupid, arrogant, Spider-Man. She is mine, mine, mine. All mine, my Precious….” His face would cloud over, and then he would simply laugh and walk away. He did not realize that he was becoming more and more like one poor creature who had perished many, many ages back. He was only aware of his hate for Frodo. All the pent-up resentment of the past came back, along with memories of how he had carried Frodo up the mountain, and received scant recognition for it. Why? He had played an equally important part in that tale. Is it because he was just a gardener? “Pah! We shall see about that now, won’ts we?” he would mutter to himself.
The days passed, became shorter, and the wind colder. Winter was well set, and the snow would fall on the grass, making the green sparkle in the cold mornings. The three men had no time or interest in watching the grass grow. All that they were conscious of, was their rage, and the cold. They were staying in a cold house, with no heating. They could not afford anything better. The cracks in the windows would let in the cold, whistling wind, and they would sit there, rubbing their hands together to keep warm.
“If this carries on, my webs will crack,” grumbled Spider-Man. “We have to find those damned women, and put them in their place. What do you say, Joker?”
The Joker sat there and shivered. His white face paint seemed to crack in the cold. He was a very far from the same criminal that had so terrorized the city, and he was beginning to wonder when his luck would turn.
Maybe, the New Year would bring about some luck. They were so close to it anyway.
They sat there shivering in the cold, and the city seemed to be celebrating. They could hear celebrations, and then they heard some passing walkers singing carols.
“Damn these morons,” said The Joker. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, as his eyes moved shiftily from one side to the next.
“Yeah,” agreed Spider. “They don’t know that all this is a waste of time.”
Sam interjected. “Shall we go out and get some hot toddy?”
“Where’s the money?” asked Spider-Man.
“That’s what these morons are for, aren’t they?” asked Sam with a sly look on his face.
The light flickered on and off. There seemed to be a crackle in the air, and there was a loud clap of thunder.
Darkness enveloped them, and they got up, cursing.
“Someone’s here,” said Spider. “Let’s move out quickly.”
“What, your Spidey senses suddenly woke up?” sneered The Joker.
“Yes,” hissed Spider-Man, “and, if you don’t shut up, there will be hell to pay.”
A greenish mist seemed to fill the room. Despite the dark, they could just about make out a fluorescent green mist filling the air. Acrid, burning mist, and they coughed and spluttered.
Falling to their knees, they were losing consciousness fast.
A deep, hated voice spoke to them through the fog that was rapidly filling their brains.
“It’s Christmas Eve, my friends. I could not let you celebrate alone, now could I?”
“Damn you, Batman,” said The Joker. “I will get you for this.”
A woman’s voice laughed.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
***
Esther Chilton 
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