Happy New Year to you all. Here’s the first story challenge of the year:
Can you tell a story in 40 words using the following words in it somewhere:
- RESOLUTION
- HUMAN
- RAISINS
- MOOD
The previous challenge was to write a story in 100 words using the following ten words in it somewhere:
- ARMOUR
- FIDGET
- NATIVITY
- TAMBOURINE
- GLOSS
- WINDSURF
- SPELLING
- BUN
- PYJAMAS
- LIGHTNING
Here are your fun stories:
On Christmas Eve, a child sat in pyjamas watching the nativity on television. He started to fidget, tapping a tambourine while eating a small bun at the table. A paperback nearby mentioned armour, a bit of gloss, how to windsurf, and basic spelling tips.
Outside, lightning flashed once, then the street went quiet again. He turned off the TV, put the tambourine away, brushed his teeth, and went to bed feeling calm, ordinary, and ready for sleep before morning arrived. Nothing felt special, just routine moments passing slowly, familiar, uneventful, comfortable, and easy for everyone in the quiet house tonight.
It is said that lightning never strikes twice, and so it seemed that the Sea Nativity would never return.
Nevertheless, we cannot hope to gloss over the annual sight of a multitude of Santas windsurfing in pyjamas whilst bashing green tambourines against scarlet-clad thighs.
Onlookers did fidget and worry, as other Santa surf-riders in abundance were spelling ‘knickers’ in the waves with their spumes of spray.
Dangerous as it was in their Santa costumes (which were only a flimsy suit of armour), the onlookers were shocked, surprised, and then cumulatively gasped, as the Mighty Cribbar took down the Santa Flotilla.
A True Christmas Miracle: Let Nothing Interfere with Our Christmas Traditions
It was Christmas Eve, and I fidgeted as lightning flashed and rain poured, spelling a potential end to our pageant. The wind howled, and one could windsurf through the streets, covered in armor of helmet and knee guards, of course. Eileen had her tambourine out because we planned to sing loudly and fervently next to the Nativity scene at church. Afterwards, we would serve hot cross buns and mulled apple cider. Everyone was welcome to come in attractive pajamas; no need for glossy outfits. Hallelujah, the storm passed in time for the festivities. We raved afterwards for the Christmas miracle.
Nicola Daly:
‘The nativity was… unforgettable.’ I swig straight from the bottle. ‘Nessie threw her fidget toy at Billy. Clemmie stuffed three pillows up her front as her “bun-in-the-oven”. Betty tried to windsurf the donkey because “he wears armour and his name is Lightning”. Don’t ask. Bonnie waved her fairy wand, screaming, “I’m spelling you all to sleep!”. Gordon forgot his hearing-aids and thought he had heard “dress as a tangerine” instead of “play the tambourine”. And Grandpa? Probably best glossed over. He refused to put his pyjama bottoms on and zimmered on stage singing “Jingle Balls”. Wrinklies – they’re worse than kids.’
While relaxing in my pajamas enjoying a sticky bun and coffee and reading Windsurf magazine, Alexa interrupted with a question.” Would you like me to read you a story?” My response was lightning fast and didn’t gloss over spelling out that even though she is considered an amour her interruption was like a falling tambourine at a nativity service. Her silence made me fidget until she finally said, “Very well. Let me know if you change your mind … jerk.”
Rall:
never any good at spelling
not that it matters much these days
always fidgeting in class
eating hot cross buns secretly under the desk
glossing over the lessons she had no interest in
dreaming of windsurfing at the beach
adjusting her armour against the lightning barrage of
complaints and insults at her unsatisfactory behaviour
being penalised by not being permitted to take part in the
school christmas nativity play and being told she
would end up banging a tambourine in pyjamas on a street corner
The Big Party
He was fidgeting. According to the prophecy the nativity was near, but what to bring for a baby king? A tambourine, a lip gloss, a windsurf board? He chose the superhero pyjamas.
Prince Charming pulled his long blonde hair back into a tight bun and put on his most shining armour.
“Mum!”
Godmother Fairy kissed him goodbye. He took a selfie and posted it: “Off 2 the king’s castle!”
It was neither ligthning nor camera flashes that lit up the night sky. A bright star over an old barn and three strange dudes. Not what he had expected to find.
I fidget as I sit in front of the Christmas tree, looking at the nativity scene next to it. My wife sits in pajamas, softly tapping a tambourine against her leg. A hot cinnamon bun rests on a saucer waiting for her to eat it.
The gloss print of the magazine I’m glancing through makes the spelling difficult to see, so I place it aside and look out the window. I need to put my armour on and prepare to windsurf in the rain and lightning. After the race is finished, I can relax in the arms of my love
Susan Batten:
Last night I had the most horrible nightmare. In thunder and lightning I was windsurfing across Tambourine Bay, wearing plate armour over my pyjamas and a reindeer antler headdress on my head.
I had agreed to work for Santa during Nativity by delivering buns to all the children who’d been good, when they’d much rather have had Play Stations, but with all the rain lashing down I couldn’t read the spelling on their addresses. And as I fidgeted around trying to find a gloss to help me, all the buns fell into the sea and sank!
She held the tambourine like a shield, as if it were part of a suit of armour.
Synthetic lightning didn’t hide the spelling mistakes white gloss had failed to disguise.
She began to fidget thinking windsurfing would be better than standing here on a school stage.
She dragged her long hair out of its restricting bun and proceeded to dance and jive.
The young boy dressed in bunny pyjamas beside her threw his prop to the ground and joined in.
Soon the Nativity was nothing more than a junior rave up and the kids had never had so much fun!
Murray Clarke:
Thankfully, Christmas was done and dusted. No more sitting through children’s tedious nativity plays! Feeling completely worn out, Santa relaxed in his new silk pyjamas – the ones with the reindeer – listening to Mr Tambourine Man by The Byrds on the Golden Oldies radio show.
After a while, Santa began to fidget with his worry beads, and reached for a jam-filled iced bun. He checked his emails – glossing over the atrocious spelling mistakes, and ignored the fearful fork lightning outside.
“I’d much rather be windsurfing . . . weighed down by a heavy suit of armour – I don’t think!” he laughed.
Armour plated trouser press, tick
Fidget spinner for fun? No
Nativity scene minus the donkey
Tambourine played by santa clause
Gloss paint (olive green colour)
Windsurf over new mars lake
Spelling misunderstanding in hart attack
Bun fight leaves one dead
Pyjamas infested with short dogs
Lightning bolts hurt my head
A nonsense poem for fun
Only way to use words
That are too random today.
Sent from Esther with playfulness
I need five more lines
Four, I’m losing count now
Three, maybe I can do.
Two more garbled cheeky lines?
Is that a hundred. Finally?
No that was only 95!
Following Directions at Work
I approached the medieval armoured knight that was holding up the outdated spelling bee competition poster. Just pull the knight’s arms down to take it down, they said, it’d be easy, they said. I fidgeted with the arms, then whoosh! They came down as fast as lightning that I yelped. I paused briefly to daydream about going windsurfing while playing my tambourine. My next task at hand is to set up the nativity by the grandfather clock and read, A Charlie Brown Christmas in pajamas. My goodness! I threw up my hair in a bun and glossed over the book.
(Christmas in Oz.
Just because
It happens every year
I’ve been told
For you it’s cold
But stinking hot right here).
***
Bedtime now
To sleep somehow
She’s yawning in pyjamas
A girl retreats
Beneath the sheets
And fidgets in those armours
*
Elsewhere it’s snowing
Here it’s blowing
Cooling summer breeze
There’s no one there
Just sounds of air
Windsurfing through the trees
*
Here DownUnder
Sounds of thunder
God playing tangerines
Under the covers
She dreams of lovers
In glossy magazines
*
No more rules
She’s done with schools
No maths, no spelling bee
Tomorrow fun.
A Christmas bun
A sweet nativity
***
Lady Fidgit recorded the oddities that transpired during her lifespan at Windsurf Manor.
Worn pages recorded the night lightening lit up the den, accentuated by a thunder clap. Throughout the room, the battle armour swayed, sounding like a bad tambourine ensemble.
A frayed ribbon and dried bun crumbs marked the Family Spelling Bee. Those clad in pyjamas heard animal sounds coming from the nativity pieces on the mantle.
Entries are no longer in the matriarch’s hand…Today she passed…The gilded frame around Lady Fidget’s photograph lost its gloss…Lilting laughter came from the den…Is that you, Lady Fidget?
They say that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, but I’m not so sure. My group had planed a short nativity play for the Christmas season, out on the sandy beach. It seemed appropriate, except for the windsurfing dudes in the background. My only armour was my pyamas and a tambourine to shake, so when the glossy black clouds moved in I started to fidget. My hair bun cracked with electricity, and it was spelling out to me that we needed to run inside before lightning could strike us. Beach sand swirled while waves crashed – we ran fast.
At dawn, a child in pyjamas watched lightning stitch the sky. His father polished armour to a mirror gloss, while teaching spelling with chalk on a door. At the village nativity play, a goat ate a bun, bells rang, and a tambourine kept time. Nervous, the boy would fidget, dreaming of escape. By noon, wind rose; he ran to the shore to windsurf, laughing as thunder faded. Courage arrived quietly, not worn, but learned, carried home like warmth after rain. That evening, stories circled the hearth, teaching patience, kindness, listening, bravery, humility, hope, persistence, trust, gratitude, and joy, together always.
It was storming out and Joe started fidgeting with the armor on his metal guard costume, hoping the nativity would not be windsurfed into the street. Lightning and wind caused the gloss of the crib lights to blow out and luckily no flames started up on the babe’s pajamas. The angels stood out as a bun shaped band around the entire scene. Someone in the theater group provided harps and pranked the angel actors giving a couple of them tambourines. Another volunteer did not notice the spelling error of Christmas – the religious tableau leaving out the most important word.
Janine kept fidgeting with her ring while recalling the time she had spent in her pajamas creating the nativity scene out of gloss-white paperboard. Her buns were aching from the time spent sitting, but her persistence was like armour; she knew she would get everything done in lightning speed. As if a tambourine were placed right next to her head, Janine jumped out of her seat, unaware of what had startled her. She had been dreaming of windsurfing in the islands and must have fallen asleep! Now fully awake, she checked the spelling of Baby Jesus in the glitter glue.
Chaos in Pyjamas
I woke during a chaotic town festival, rehearsing a nativity themed farce, wearing pyjamas beneath ceremonial armour, chewing a stolen bun. Judges watched me fidget as I fixed a spelling error on the parade banner.
To regain confidence, I shook a tambourine, its gloss blinding nearby pigeons. Outside, lightning cracked the sky, inspiring me to windsurf across the fountain like an overconfident hero.
The crowd gasped, then laughed uncontrollably. By evening, dignity drowned, armour dented, bun crumbs everywhere, and the mayor declared the performance official, chaos, when embraced boldly, becomes unforgettable comedy that turns disasters into legends forever everywhere today.
One Christmas I went windsurfing in my pyjamas when suddenly lightning struck. I felt as if I needed my armour on and inside I was all of a fidget. I remembered my past and being in the Nativity play as a child and playing a tambourine in the school band. I was never good at spelling and I would gloss over my defects. My first baking experiment involved a rock bun but we’ll not say too much about that. It was as if the whole of my life flashed before my eyes. Was I going to die? My heart stopped.
Buns! You want buns now? Isn’t your list long enough? Windsurfing pyjamas and high-gloss armour? Photons will bounce off them. You’ll have a hard time. A tambourine! You didn’t even get the spelling right. You’ll get it only when you know the meaning of nativity. Hint. It has nothing to do with natives. I need to speak to your guruji after the school opens.
Don’t fidget. You’re going to listen to your ma for as long as it takes. Just continue harvesting the lightning I need to print out your wish list. I takes me time to search recipes too.
The Great Unwrapping
Christmas morning arrived with lightning speed. The Conlans, still in pajamas, attacked the presents like warriors in armor.
Little Mia unwrapped a tambourine and immediately provided unwanted accompaniment. Dad got windsurf lessons … handy for land-locked Nebraska! Mom received glitter lip gloss, which the dog ate within seconds.
Patrick’s fidgetspinner ricocheted off Grandma’s carefully arranged nativity scene, decapitating a wise man and JJ’s gift tag prompted hysterical laughter at the mis-spelling of his name!
“Who wants cinnamon buns?” Mom called out happily.
Everyone stampeded kitchen-ward, leaving wrapping paper carnage behind.
The tambourine continued shaking, possessed by the Christmas spirit.
put on your armour
the spell sic yes men syncophants
fidget when they see creches and nativities
light up the way with your glad tidings
singing dylan s tambourine man
the gloss and sugar sweet salt to not be flat
this that your pajamas
and heck
please drive on the right side of the road!
***
Image credit: Pinterest
Esther Chilton 
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