► HOLIDAY WRITING CONTEST 2010

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,440,true][bg=dddddd][atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/2vds329.jpg] HOLIDAY CONTEST

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=width,440,true][bg=dddddd][atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/2vds329.jpg] This is part one of two special events planned for this December! I admit, for a while I was at a loss on what to do for December but then I watched The Santa Claus with my grandmother and got the contest details stuck in my head. I think that by far, hands down, this is my favorite yet! THE THEME: Please write a short story about your character that takes place in our world during the holidays. They do not have to be celebrating a holiday or practice any sort of religion, but they should have themselves caught up in the holidays somehow. They can be living anywhere you please, in any country, but it must take place in 2010. WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR: A wonderful translation of your character into the real and modern world, caught in a story that could be told on the television for the season. Does not have to be cheerful or uplifting, but must pertain to the holidays and the holiday mood experienced in December. Can have a mystical aspect to it, too. WORD COUNT: There is no word count, but please keep your entry reasonable. DUE DATE: The contest will end on Dec. 31 before midnight on Dec. 30. SUBMISSION: All entries must be posted in this thread. Good luck, everyone! And happy holidays!

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[gabriel]

"Grab The Sky"
"Live Life With A Death Wish"

---

For the sake of my own sanity, I am doing a monologue so that I can more easily organize myself. So, I am in New Zealand, Northland in December 2010. Might as well time stamp my thoughts. I've been wandering around town for a while now, wondering what to do. It's the time of year to start buying presents for people but there may be no point. I don't really get into those moods anymore because unless I am giving to others, I don't expect anything in return which I wouldn't even if I was giving. It always seems that when I don't give anything at all, I am a modern day Grinch. Though it isn't always bad.

I haven't a note of currency nor a coin to purchase items with. Because of this it is rather sad that I can't make anyone happy this time. Oh, if only I had a job or was a Pirate, finding treasure somewhere. Looking around me as I sit on a bench, everyone seems quite busy and have stern look on their face. You would think everyone would be walking by with smiles on their faces but here in New Zealand I guess it doesn't really get that easy. The weather right now is very humid and it's raining every half hour just to torment us.

Gabriel was sitting on a bench in town, head back resting with arms on the backrest and legs stretched out. He was wearing his coat like always so that he wouldn't get wet from the rain that was pouring down all around him. Having gotten out of the rain, it was time to rest from running so much. But now that he wasn't in the rain, he was as hot as hell. The coat did more than keep him dry, it also kept him toasty. With humidity being around 80+%, it was just getting stupid. Sitting up, Gabriel began walking through the rain to the next shaded area on the walkway.

Taking about a minute of walking in the rain, Gabriel got to a dry spot underneath buildings that had overhanging slabs to cover people from the rain. Sitting down on a spare bench, he leaned forward, letting his hair drip in front of him instead of running into his face. A girl that looked in her late teens was sitting next to him with a surprised look on her face as she glanced at him. His back was steaming. That happened quite often when his clothes were wet and pressed against his hot body. Leaning back, Gabriel looked at the girl next to him who looked to be around seventeen. Smiling while looking at her, he spotted the bags sitting next to her.
"How's your Christmas shopping going?"

---

"The Shark At The Bottom Of The Well"
"Looks Up At The Sky, Envious Of The Bird"

[{ PASCALINE }]

HEY GUYS. JUST TO CLARIFY. The winner won't be getting a key for The Spiridon, they're getting a new item.

And for some more motivation, the winner will receive 5 KP and all participants not the winner will get 2 KP.

[zulu2]

KAY SO UH I GUESS I'M DOING A FLASHBACK KINDA. Because I really wanted to do young!Millie and she's oldd and fasldkjf; I hope this is fine. :c Also sorry this is a bit long but it is needed k. ;o;

'Cause we gonna blow it up, like it's dynamite*

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Christmas. What was that holiday even about, Millie wondered? For corporations, a chance to bump up their profits before the end of the year. For deluded, religious crackpots, a time to spread their faith like a venereal disease as they celebrated their prophet's birth. For many, an excuse to have a wonderful time with their family, smiling as they hastily tore off the gift wrapping to reveal the present they've been begging from Santa Claus for months. For the poorer denizens of New York, a truly difficult time, with homeless families huddling together to generate a scant amount of warmth.

For her? December 25 was just another day on the calendar.

She never really saw all the fuss about it - sure, presents were nice, but were they really necessary? Enough so to close down all the stores and shops - even the really important ones, like the supermarket? Mildred's stomach moaned as she passed by a food store, the sign on the front entrance apologizing for its temporary closure, and wishing its customers a happy holiday. She sighed at this and gripped her coat more tightly, slowly walking back home. It looked like she would have to survive on snow and air for this day. Millie wore a tired smile as she arrived at her destination: the subway station. Thankful that no one was around at this time [it was quite late, after all], she laid down on a bench she informally claimed as her own, and closed her eyes as she dreamed of better days.

23 years ago...
"Mommy, what's Christmas?" Mildred asked, interrupting her mother while she was talking to her friend on the phone about finally being able to afford gifts for the first time. Sara smiled and, after promising Kate she would talk to her later, answered her daughter's question. "It's the day Santa Claus comes and gives presents to all the good kids! If you're a good kid, Mil, you'll get a toy from him!" Sara winked at this, chuckling slightly. Mildred's eyes shone with excitement as she already thought of what gift Santa could bring her.

Her happy expression slipped to worry, however, as she thought of a new question: "What happens to the bad kids?" Sara feigned severity as she replied, "All the bad kids get put on Santa's Naughty List, and they get nothing but coal for Christmas!" Millie giggled at her mom's exaggerated tone, and became much more interested at the mention of coal. Toys nowadays were made of plastic, which took forever to burn. Coal, on the other hand, was practically made for burning.

So she plotted, and she schemed, and she committed the most vile acts she could think of: she broke plates, refused to do her homework, and generally acted cruel and unpleasant to her older siblings. When the 25th came, her efforts were handsomely rewarded: while her older brothers rejoiced over the huge pile of cheap candy and plastic toy guns, Mildred had a giant pile of coal right in front of her.

She glanced furtively around and, after confirming that nobody was paying attention to her, she stole a box of matches from the kitchen, as well as one of her mother's cigarette lighters. Mildred gave off a broad grin as she burned the first lump of coal inside a plastic container. "Wow, Christmas is such a great holiday! You get the best present ever for being mean! Santa Claus is a genius!" Mildred exclaimed.

Mildred suddenly woke up at the sound of a train screeching to a halt, waiting for its passengers to board the vehicle. She yawned and stretched her cramped, aching muscles, slowly easing herself out of the bench. She barely took a couple of steps forward before her metal leg kicked something, causing it to vibrate loudly. To her delighted surprise, it was a lump of coal. The 30-year-old woman smiled as she picked it up, copying the act she committed nearly two and a half decades ago with a lighter. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly what ol' Saint Nick intended for future generations to celebrate, but at least she was in the holiday spirit, right?

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[oberon]

(Yeah, I know I'm just a noob on the site and everything, but I still thought this was a neato idea [yes, I just used the word 'neato' XD] and thought I'd try it out. If only to dole out some more competition.)


It's nearly eleven o'clock at night, and it's snowing.

Through the static of old radios, the rooms and cars and verandas of the city of Hogwash are echoing the last few verses of Jingle Bell Rock.

Because, apparently, in all the centuries that have flown by to reach this potential future of Earth, not one person has come up with a new Christmas song.

As the tunes of Bobby Helms died, the voice of Lewis Weaver, local radio personality and DJ, wished everyone listening a Merry Christmas as best he could through the static.

"And that was Jingle Bell rock, from Bobby Helms. Wow, that song is old as hell. Who the hell is Bobby Helms, even? But we're still playing his song. Through the wars and all the winters, we're still playing that one song. Now that's immortality for you.

Well folks, it's getting to be that time again. But before I go, I just want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. You might ask me 'what's so merry about it, Lewis?' Well I'll tell you right now, we're luckier than the rest of the world. Out there, there are people who are way worse off than us. Outside of the city, people are being beaten, raped, pillaged...et cetera.

And even up there, in that fancy city in the sky...that flying city full of cutthroat politicians and ruthless sky pirates...No, we're lucky down here. Tonight's a night to be with your family, your friends, and your lovers. And when your with them, think of our boys in red, and how they've worked to give us this glorious city. Show them some love for being on the front lines, and giving us order in a world full of chaos.

Well, Mike's giving me the cut-off signal, so I guess I'll be going. Have a wonderful Christmas, everyone."

---

Ten minutes later, Lewis Weaver was out the back entrance of the radio station.

He work a black overcoat with the collar up, so that he could hide his face. He wasn't a celebrity, but he didn't want anyone actually asking him "what's so merry about Christmas?" Like that fake semi-country accent he used on the radio, that whole speech was synonymous with the name of the city. Hogwash. Bullsh*t. Christmas didn't mean anything to him unless he got free stuff. And he never did.

His late mother, a brutally honest woman, told him that there wasn't a Santa Claus, and if there was, he "wouldn't visit a crapsack city like this. We look out for ourselves and our own Lew, that's how it's always been."

As he was walking, he passed a parked car running it's engine with the radio on. The man inside was listening to Bob, the eleven o'clock guy that came after Lewis. A woman was requesting a song.

"And what would you like to hear today, sweetheart?" Bob said.

"I don't know if you have it, but Suspicious Minds, by Elvis Presley," the woman sounded old, "In memory of my late husband. We used to spend all our Christmas nights listening to that song."

"Right, right. Well, here it is, Suspicious Minds, from Elvis Presley."

As the song started up, Lewis knew it was going to get stuck in his head. What was up with Christmas and old songs?

A couple more blocks down, Lewis ran into a crowd. Well, a crowd of two people. They were looking up at a man standing on the ledge of a five-foot-story building. He looked like he was about to jump.

Suicides on Christmas might've been a big deal, back in, say, 2010. But today, all they attract are the gamblers who take bets on what kind of splat pattern the jumper would paint on the pavement.

Lewis glanced up at the jumper as he passed by. The great thing about having a cybernetic eye was that you could zoom in on things, like a camera. It helps you notice things that other people don't.

He made a turn in an ally and found the building's emergency exit, which was busted wide open. He walked up the stairs until he reached the top floor, and found the jumper standing out the window. As quietly as he could, he snuck up on him and quickly pulled him back inside.

Of course, this is never a good idea if you're not a fighting man, and Lewis definitely wasn't. As soon as they were back inside the building, the jumper started beating the living crap out of Lewis's face. It was only when Lewis somehow found a bottle to smash the jumper over the head with that he was allowed to breathe.

His nose made a whistling sound when he blew out of it, and he knew that couldn't be good. He tried touching it but it hurt like a motherf*cker. He mumbled a sting of curses as he went through the jumper's pockets. He found his wallet, and was surprised to find there was a twenty inside. After pocketing the twenty, he found a picture of a young, golden haired girl.

He took out a pen and wrote "would she want you to do it?" Then threw the picture on the unconscious jumper and left.

After he exited the building, he thought about what he had just done, and if it was worth getting his nose broken for. He thought about his mom, and how she said "we look out for our own." He figured that had something to do with it, but mostly he was glad he got a free twenty dollars from that guys wallet.

A minute or so later, he started laughing at himself and singing. "Lewis Weaver," he said, "Holiday Hero. Ahahahahahaha! Ah...We can't go on together~With Suspicious Minds~..."

[etoile1]

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through the door spilling out in constellations on the floor soaked in liquor he's soft as bread and everything that's left of him to beckon to his bed he's nocturnal always alone they all speak in secret codes

that he has never known in this world but not of it so he watches from above it a visitor here this is not home i am the spectator i can see the world passing by from here i am just a child to a man back to the dust where i began

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He lets himself in with more noise than is necessary, dumps keys in their normal place and chains, bolts the door on autopilot. He sheds his jacket and leaves it where it lands on the floor.

Matt Cross is, as he usually is these times when he comes home at three in the morning, completely and utterly shitfaced. Not the best of crowds tonight – not the best of bartenders come to think of it – has led to rather a few too many Screwdrivers and telling the kid that drove him back that there was no coffee and he was the only one going into that apartment tonight. It’s uncharacteristic of him, but he just isn’t in the right mood for company tonight. Then again, perhaps it's the date weighing heavily on his mind, the twenty-third - no, the small hours of the twenty-fourth. He'd promised his mother he'd fly to Seattle yesterday and had then purposely taken the shifts of the surgeons with family. He won't be going back this year, just like he didn't go back last year or the year before. He'll make his excuses to her the next time she calls, which will be to let Bastian Mueller talk to his grandson. It goes roughly the same way every year, with the former pastor correcting Matt's German and then blessing him 'whether you like it or not'. Predictably, he doesn't enjoy it.

He’s drunk, yes, but almost painfully lucid, and the process of drifting lead-limbed through the bare living area is an almost mechanical one. There is no tree, no decorations of any sort, just a blandly impersonal assortment of perfectly-assembled Ikea furniture. The wreath given to him from his neighbour across the landing sits in the trashcan by the sofa. All he needs to negotiate is a single stack of books, study for a conference in the new year. This is marked on his calendar, but not the twenty-fith, not the thirty-first. Not even the seventeenth, when he turned thirty-five. Whatever 'holiday spirit' is, it eludes him entirely.

He makes it to the sofa and sits, pulling the coffee table closer. Laptop open, power button, long fingers fumbling the shirt buttons slightly. In ten hours the same hands will be transplanting a live heart into the chest of a thirty-year-old woman whose name he doesn’t recall. He’s done it dozens of times before. Right now he’s more concerned that one button just won’t unfasten, and once sure that it’s not going to let go on its own neatly yanks it off.

It leaves a hole in the shirt. He curses at it, running a hand through disarrayed blonde hair. The wispy strands at his temple are sticking to his skin. He curses at those too, even as he lets the fringe fall back over his forehead. Whatever.

But the laptop’s on now, and a few clicks and a slow, twice-amended set of keystrokes gets him into his email account. Nothing. The inbox is empty. The deleted files folder holds only automated messages from mailing lists and spam. Power off, laptop closed. He shrugs off the shirt, and that too lands on the worn floorboards in a faint crumple of dark cotton. The long-sleeved undershirt follows, one pale arm stretching toward the bathroom after its owner.

He looks in the mirror of the medicine cabinet, taking off the suddenly skewed glasses and holding the pale gaze that looks back at him. The irises, an impossibly vivid blue to his inebriated mind, practically swallow the tiny pinpoint of black. He supposes the sixty-watt bulb must be like looking into the sun after being exposed so long to dark rooms and dark streets. He’s never noticed before.

What he has noticed are the ever-present shadows beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the feverish flushing from temple to cheekbone. All of it is easily rationalised – his erratic sleep schedule, his distaste for the outdoors, the vasodilation properties of the alcohol. All of it mars the fine-featured, aristocratic face, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck. He mars himself purposely. The tattoo of sharp, curving, twined lines around his left wrist finds a partner on the small of his back. Even now, he slowly removes each of the silver studs and rings from the multiple piercings in each ear, tosses them into the small plastic box where they’re kept.

He’s too tired to do anything else than rinse with mouthwash and knock back a couple of ibuprofen. He almost puts the spectacles back on, but looking down at the oval frames he decides it’s not worth the effort. Instead he just curls his fingers around them, leaving the bathroom. He’s halfway across the living room before he remembers to turn the light off. It is a strange figure he cuts, the wobble in his steps accentuated by the tall thin frame and the complete lack of purpose in his steps as he pads towards the bedroom. Across the street through half-open blinds, he can see an illuminated miniature tree in a window, obviously plastic. Obviously fake. That one tree sums up this pathetic holiday, he thinks, and it stirs an odd sort of revulsion in him. He averts his eyes, continues on his way.

The bedside table is probably the most organised thing in the entire place. Everything is regimented – alarm clock, cellphone, three spaces. The glasses go in one, the two watches around his wrist in another, the small black pager clipped to his left hip in the last. The cellphone’s display shows two missed calls, both from unknown numbers. He holds the phone to his ear with one shoulder as he undresses, listening to the voicemail.

One is Adrian, the snide bastard, gulls in the background and the faint sound of waves behind the stream of drivel he spouts. Matt barely listens to the words and instead listens to the noise, the familiar noise of the man who irks him to no end and he still keeps occasionally sleeping with. They can do it because both know what they want, he muses idly, and neither of them care to repeat the mistakes of 'relationships'. What he does catch is the bright "I'll pray for you," and that makes him frown. This Christmas shit, he just doesn't get it. Why families inflict themselves on each other, why people spend money they don't have stuffing their houses with sparkly things and buying people shit they didn't want. It's all the bullshit of birthdays, but it's Jesus' birthday so hey, why not bring the civilised world to a standstill?

It is difficult to tell at first who the second voicemail is from. He thinks it might be his father for a moment, because of the long pause at the start of the recording. But his father hasn’t bought a new phone for six years, why start now? The surgeon is just pulling back the sheets of his bed when his blood runs cold, at just 4 little words.

“... Hey, Matt. It’s me.”

The message continues but it’s too late, he’s already shutting the phone with a snap, letting it fall from his fingers onto the mattress. Fucking Christmas, it brings that out of the woodwork. Not enough to ruin an entire month of his life, is it? He feels repulsed, sick, faint. A sharp movement bounces the phone onto the floor, where the back springs off and the battery falls out with a clatter. He just looks after it for a moment, perfectly still, before he reaches out a hand for the drawer in the bedside table. Now there is a tremor, now those hands are unsteady as he almost drops the small, half-full bottle. The prescription is not his, but he swallows two of them dry anyway.

The sleeping pills are a reprieve, at least.

words: 1331
notes: so i hope you like depressing introspection i know i do
lyrics: the spectator, the bravery

THIS IS ONLY FOR ♥ETTY♥ MADE BY PIDGEEE

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[leschot]

send us back to hell, we've had our fill of heaven
give us back our sins, deadly one through seven

» The Grinch was a complete and utter idiot. And though he’d learned his lesson by the end of the quaint little story, how he’d gone about “stealing Christmas” was almost embarrassing. Merely stealing presents from a tightly-knit, loving community – what on earth could he possibly have hoped to achieve? If he truly wanted misery, he should have inflicted psychological damage. He should have told little Cindy Lou Who that her father had left; should have told her that her mother didn’t love her – never had – because little Cindy reminded her too much of him. He should have told her that she had no friends; exposed the other young Whos’ true intentions as cruel and self-serving and shown her how alone she really was. He should have woken her infantile mother as Cindy snuck back into the small apartment, cold and a bit hungry, so that the poor girl could get yelled at and thrown back out on Christmas Eve.

» “Fucking moron,” Gregory muttered to himself, shoulders hunched as he wrapped his arms around himself. His curse froze upon the frigid winter air, and a biting gust of wind hurled it right back in his face. Glasses fogged up and practically useless, he ducked his head and trudged blindly into the icy gale, headed towards his father’s shop – his shop, now. (A stupid little business specializing in antiques; repair, sale, the like.) The amusing thing was, he noted, he hadn’t even done anything to earn his mother’s hatred – this time, anyway. He’d been out contemplating his death on the edge of the nearest bridge with a lethal drop he could find, tired of his life – of his monetary troubles; of his loneliness; of his mother, who reminded him almost daily that he was unwanted before apologizing and gripping him in a tight embrace.

» He sat on the edge of that bridge for a good seven hours. No one even noticed. But in the end, he was a coward. He couldn’t bring himself to end his own miserable existence and crawled home, defeated. His mother didn’t ask where he’d been, just assumed he was out doing drugs or picking up prostitutes and slammed the door in his face. He was too broken to be sad anymore, and began the twelve-block trek to his father’s shop – no, it was his, now; he was tied to this squalid life and the shop acted as the anchor, dragging him into the abyss of mediocrity.

» He rounded a corner to find himself staring into the open doors of the local church; the warm light and happy music almost would have been enough to entice him in were he not already so lost. There was a small group of children just inside, practicing carols as they bundled themselves up in coats and scarves – and for once Gregory was glad he wasn’t going to be home to have to hear them. Even though he had been such a lousy villain, the Grinch was certainly easy enough to identify with – all the singing and laughing and obnoxious children with their obnoxious toys…

» He’d almost passed the old brick building when his stomach growled to remind him how hungry he was. With a sigh, he turned to gaze back at the open door of the church – they’d more than likely have some sort of free food… And if not, they most certainly had a pantry in the basement he could steal from. Scowling, he turned on his heel and stormed inside, ignoring the bewildered looks stamped across the children’s faces. (They could go die in a ditch for all he cared, thank you very much.)

» There was a table just inside with come cookies and cups of hot chocolate; Gregory helped himself. A fat, older lady dressed in red and white and looking a bit too much like one of those double-decker tour buses came around the corner holding a stack of papers – and bumped into him. “Oh, excuse me son,” she said, beaming, “Didn’t see you there. Are you a member of the youth group? You must be new because I don’t recognize you, kiddo! What’s your name? Are you going caroling? Don’t forget your lyric sheet—“

» “Oh, no ma’am, my brother’s here and I just came to drop him off. And this cocoa just looked too good to pass up,” he lied, returning her sickeningly sweet smile. He could fake a pleasant disposition quite well, and took another draw from the flimsy Styrofoam cup. The woman patted his shoulder, still smiling like an idiot, and tottered past him. She ushered the group of children outside into the cold, squawking after them like an ungainly mother hen.

» He really, really hated the holidays; almost as much as he hated the sound of young voices screeching out “Jingle Bells” in every incorrect key imaginable. And tomorrow, he knew, they’d all be outside throwing snowballs and sledding and building snowmen and making noise. He was really starting to empathize with the Grinch’s cause. Bah humbug, indeed. Still scowling, he turned to leave… and noticed the paper sign pointing out the way to the “Donations for Orphanage and Food Collection”. … Beautiful.

» Glancing over his shoulder, he tossed his cup in the trashcan and sauntered down the cramped hallway. A minute of wandering the foreign building found him standing before an entirely unguarded box full of toys and clothes – and no doubt the “Food Collection” was just behind the door labeled “food pantry; food only”. A quick examination of the box he assumed was headed for the orphanage revealed a conglomeration of rather nice clothes – a few sweaters, hand-knit scarves, shoes, gloves (he grabbed a pair that were about his size – water-resistant and very warm). The toys weren’t quite up to par, mostly action figures and nerf-related accessories… but one couldn’t really expect to give out an Xbox to every unhappy child.

» An uncharacteristically mean thought came to him, driven by a need to prove that he had done nothing wrong in his life – until now. Sure, killing that rat might have been a little strange, and maybe those other vermin lingering around his apartment had deserved a “humane” disposal… but they were going to be killed either way, either by broken neck or mutilation at his hands. Stealing clothes and toys from orphans, though, now that was bad – and perhaps in such a materialistic world the results would be more favorable for him. (Really, the Grinch never had a chance in hell.)

» He took a few steps down the hall to make sure no one was coming (they weren’t) and scooped the box into his arms. It was heavy and sat awkwardly in his arms, but he didn’t encounter a single soul on his trek back to the front door. Trusting folks, these, he thought to himself before slipping out the door. People were beginning to gather for the late evening service, but no one even looked at him twice, and he was soon on his way. Loot in hand, he trudged onwards towards his shop. Maybe he could pawn off his new belongings later – Ebay was always a wonderful place to make a quick buck. Or maybe he’d just throw all the crap away (except those gloves; they fit him rather nicely); heave it all to the dump and drop it into the first dumpster he came across – his own personal Mount. Crumpet.

» About a block from his destination he was stopped by a smallish child –no more than seven years of age—who was apparently leaving carrots outside for Santa’s reindeer. I really hate children, he reminded himself as he tried to walk around the girl. She planted herself in front of him, eyes trained on the box balanced in his arms. Seemingly unsupervised, no one came to his rescue, and he peered down at her with a rather unabashed look of disdain. “Do you need something?”

» “What do you have in your box? Are you working for Santa?”

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» “No. Go away.”

» “Are there toys in there? Can I have one please?”

» He stared down at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, with a slight smile and all the tenderness of a seasick crocodile, he replied: “Absolutely not. Now scram before I hurt you.”

» She blinked at him, aghast, and fled rather quickly back into the safety of her home. The door opened a few seconds later as a parental figure leaned out to reprimand him, but he was already hurrying his way down the sidewalk, smiling more broadly than he ever had in his life.

» A few more minutes, ears numb and nose running, and he finally arrived at the tiny storefront he’d be spending the holidays in and fumbled for a moment with his keys before stumbling inside. He dropped his box on the floor and drew the blinds shut -- he was going to sleep in, and tomorrow he was going to have his own little bonfire.

» “Merry Christmas, indeed,” he muttered.[/size]
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... DDDD: AMG SO LONG KSDJFSDKFJSDDSF /BOX OF SHAME

[marcus32]

Italicize = Thoughts

Main Characters Legend
Gold = Salvio
Green = Starlina
Brown = Benito
Red = Father


The snow fell lightly now in Tokyo, Japan. One of the busiest cities in the world. With the holiday season here it only made this place more busy. People were bustling from one shop to the other. Some were last minute shoppers, others were people watchers, and maybe some people just liked being inside all of the ruckus and chaos. Now, due to god’s dandruff, it was a winter wonderland. You could hear kids playing everywhere and people were clothed in thick layers of clothing. Anyway, down near the heart of Tokyo their was a house for rental. The family of the house had gone away from this immensely populated place and somewhere quieter for the holidays. Salvio had been wandering the streets of Tokyo when he saw this. As soon as he saw that this house was open he got an idea. ~What if the whole family could come together for the holiday? I have enough money stored up to buy us this house and pay for our fathers ticket. I have enough sense to believe that Starlina and Benito both have enough money to get here. Yes this could work. Hopefully they will want to come.~ he had said in his head. He thought about what order to contact them, how to change the house, and all the other small but important details like that. After all, he didn’t know if they would all be together ever again. Their dad was getting old and their mother had been dead for quite some time.

He had contacted them all and they all decided that they would come. His brother made it clear to him that he was coming only to see his sister and his father. This mad Salvio a little sad but he knew that with the present he had gotten his brother, they could become closer and his brother might even begin liking him. He smiled to himself at that thought. It was the day before Christmas now and they had all left the house for a while. Maybe to get presents, or maybe to go sight seeing in Tokyo. Either way Salvio had the house to himself now. He had another idea in his master plan for happiness. He would decorate the house all by himself. He nodded to himself at that thought and then went to work. First, he would put up the Christmas Tree and decorate it. He had sneaked out earlier and bought one. It wasn’t a real tree because he didn’t have the money for that since he rented the house. Besides, it would be more fun for him to put up one of those in his opinion. So he took all the pieces and parts out and went to work. He glanced back and forth from manual to the parts he had already done. This was confusing. Then he reached the part where the tree was taller then him. He had a blank expression as he went to get a chair to stand on and keep working.

As he was getting the chair his eyes widened as he heard the door to the house open. He ran over to the door and slammed it shut. “Oww!” said the voice on the other side of the door. Salvio instantly recognized it as his sister Starlina. “Ummm. You can’t come in right now.” Salvio said in a worried voice. “You sound worried. What‘s wrong?” the older sister asked in a worried tone as well. “I ummm. I-I-I‘m not decent. Yeah.” he said. That was the best he could come up with off the spot. His older sister shook her head. He overpowered Salvio and opened the door. “Stop joking around Salvio.” she said and got a confused look as she looked around. The place was a mess. Supplies were everywhere. There were things ranging from paper and gift wrap to electrical wires and lights. She rubbed her head. “Salvio. What‘s all this?” she asked. Salvio looked down as he realize that his plan had failed. ”It was supposed to be a surprise for you, dad, and Benito. I was going to decorate the house all Christmasy and stuff.” he said and sighed. “Aww. How sweet of you.” his sister said with a smile and patted him on the head before continuing, “You know what. Since this is supposed to be a surprise I won‘t tell the other two. I‘ll even help you and say that you did it all.” she said and ruffled his hair. Salvio went from a face of defeat to a smile as he looked up at his older sister. She had relit the flame of hope inside of him. They nodded and Salvio explained on what he pictured in his head. They then decided that Salvio would keep working on making and then decorating the tree. Starlina would work on decorating other parts of the house, like rooms and the kitchen. Places like that. They worked for a while before a new interruption aroused.

A knock knock on the door was heard and then the knob was turned. In entered Salvio, Starlina, and Benito’s father. Starlina just blinked as she looked at him. He did the same thing that she did when she walked in and found out what was going on inside the house. He also had the same reaction as Starlina. ”Awww. How cute. I maybe be a little on the old side but I‘ll help in anyway I can. This can still be a surprise for Benito. And yes. Salvio did all this by himself.” their father said and nodded in showing that he understood. Salvio made a sigh of relief after hearing this from the living room. ~Well. Even though those two will not be surprised things will still work out. I guess you could say that Benito was really the person I was doing this all for.~ Salvio said in his head with a small smile as he looked at the star on top of the tree. He then went back to work like the other two.

He walked into the kitchen to see how Starlina and their father were doing. His jaw dropped when he saw the completion of their work. ”This is…This is… There‘s not a word to describe how great this is!” he said and clapped once with a giant smile. He was so excited now. He was really starting to get into the Christmas spirit. He was shaking like a little kid with happiness. Then again, he wa s a little kid and it being the holiday time he wasn’t afraid to admit it. His father had even made cookies and other deserts for tomorrow and tonight. Salvio tasted one of the cookies and his mouth began to water for more. Surprisingly, he resisted the temptation. His father certainly didn’t lose the ability to cook with age. In fact it may have gotten better. He nodded. Everything seemed perfect and he was happy with the creation that they had made. Now all he had to do was what for Benito to show up and accept him as a little brother again.

But Benito did not show up that night. Salvio had been sitting in the kitchen waiting on him. He was constantly watching the door. Eventually his face went form happy to a sad frown. Starlina and their father sat with him through the whole night until about 3:00 AM. ”Cmon little bro. He‘s not going to show up. It will be ok.” she said and put her hand on his shoulder in hope that it would comfort him. He just looked at the floor. ”He‘ll be here. He wouldn‘t ditch us for Christmas. He even told me he wanted to see you two. I know he‘s going to come. I just know it.” Salvio sand and shook her hand off of him. Their father then spoke, ”Cmon Salvio. It’s getting late. If he does come he’ll be here in the morning. He will be surprised with this place whether we are up with him or not. Trust me. He will.” he said to comfort. ~Hopefuly.~ he said in his head. He didn’t dare say it out loud because he could see Salvio was already crushed. He touched his sons shoulder too and they all went to there separate rooms. Salvio got out of his day clothes and into what he slept in which was boxers. He then slowly went to sleep as he thought…no feared about his brother ditching them for Christmas.

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Salvio’s eyes shot open as he awoke from his slumber. He sat up from his bed as the bad thoughts from last night came flooding back into his mind. “Who am I kidding? He probably left and doesn‘t even care. I wish I didn‘t even do all this crap for him.” he said and got out of his bed. He might as well go down and look at the Christmas tree again before everyone else woke up and they all exchanged gifts. He forced his gloomy body to go into the living room. He instantly went to the tree and sat down in front of it and looked up at the star. ~What a Christmas this turned out to be.~ Salvio said in his head while he looked at the star. “Wow. You come in her and say nothing. Is that anyone to greet your brother on Christmas morning?” a voice said. Salvio’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be him. It must have been god playing a trick on him or something. It must have been god toying with his emotions. Salvio turned his head and sure enough there was Benito laid out on the couch. The sad frown on Salvio’s face turned into a bright smile and he felt lighter. “So you didn’t ditch us?!” was what he was about to say out loud but he decided against it. Instead he said this, “Well then Merry Christmas brother!” and got up and hugged his brother. ”Woah woah woah. Down kitty. Enough of that sentimental stuff. What‘s that all about?” he said and pushed Salvio away form him. Salvio expected as much and so he kept his balance after being pushed. “So Benito. Do you like what I did to the place? I did it all by myself. Were you surprised?” he asked and tilted his head like a confused dog. There was that annoying habit again. “It‘s alright I guess.” Benito said and shrugged. Salvio didn’t expect this though and it kind of hurt him inside. Then again, Salvio was sure Benito would be happy when he saw what he had gotten for him.

Then Starlina and their father came down too. They were just as surprised to see Benito as Salvio was. They greeted him. Benito hugged his sister and their father. Salvio looked at the ground a little hurt again. To stop this pain he quickly spoke, “Alrighty. Now that Everyone’s up. Lets exchange gifts!” They all nodded in agreement. Starlina gave her gifts to everyone first. Then their father gave gifts to everyone. Benito gave gifts to his father and sister and said that he would give Salvio’s gift. Now it was time for Salvio too hand out his. Salvio gave out his sisters first. “Aww. Thanks little brother. It‘s great.” she said and smiled at him. Then Salvio gave his father his gift His father’s response was basically the same. ”Thanks Salvio. I love it.” Then came Benito’s gift. This was the one true person that Salvio wanted to satisfy this Christmas. He handed Benito his gift. Benito shook it and then opened it. The gift that Salvio had given him was a samurai sword. “That is no ordinary sword brother. That sword was used by one of the Forty Seven Ronin. I‘m sure you‘ve heard the story before. You do not know what I had to go through to get that.” he said and smiled happily. Benito looked at it and then at Salvio. “Ehh. It‘s alright I guess.” was his response.

It was like the world came crashing down. It was like it all came crashing down on top of Salvio. He had went through so much to get that gift for his brother and all his brother could say was “Ehh it’s alright!” This made Salvio boil up inside. Salvio couldn’t look at his brother right now. He couldn’t look at any of his family right now. All he could do was look at the floor. It was then that the anger turned into sadness. Salvio got up and ran to his room to cry. Salvio was really hurt.

Back in the living room Starlina stood up and gave Benito an angry look. “He did all of this for you and all you can say is “It‘s alright?!” What‘s wrong with you Benito? He tried to make this the best Christmas ever and now he is up their crying. I‘ll go talk to him.” she said and walked up to Salvio’s room. Their father just shook his head. ~My boys.~ he said to himself. Benito got up and walked out of the house with all of his gifts. He left the area immediately because he didn’t want to hear his sister come back down and get on him some more. He went to another building nearby and sat down against it. He took out the sword form the pile of his gifts. He unsheathed it and looked at it. He put on a half smile. “That punk gave me a pretty good gift.” he said to himself and put it back in the pile. Was that a show of hope for Salvio? Did this mean that Salvio’s countless efforts to impress his brother were getting somewhere? If only Salvio was there to hear that. It would have made his Christmas.

OOC: Sorry if it's too long. It's just that i had a lot of muse for this one and I love writing stories. Please forgive meh *puppy dog eyes* XD

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[rhodanthe]

DISCLAIMER: Kalla gave her approval of this too, but if using sephie in it is against the rules, oh well. blah. (still needs to spell check and grammar check)

“Want to put on the star?” Rho asked with a torn-up can in her hands. What would have been an old soda can was now a lop-sided star. The sides had been cut, and pounded in to produce a silve, sharp, badly made star. Sephie blinked her blue eyes, confused with the idea. Rho lifted up her hands, the star batching the faint light from the corridor. Sephie sat confused for a bit longer before letting out a little squeal. Sephie quickly stood up, and skipped over to where Rho was standing.

“Where did you get it?” She squeaked happily, her hands greedily reaching up for the star. Rho lowered it slowly, taking extra care to not cut herself.

“It's my present to you. Don't cut yourself.” Rho warned, already certain that Sephie was going to cut herself. “I know you really wanted to put up the star on the Foster Tree.” Rho started to explain after her first statement seemed to upset the little girl. Rho hoped that Sephie would spark up with joy at the prospect. “Any Tommy got it because he was the youngest and all. Since we had our own little tree.” Rho motioned to the beat up broom, that had all sorts of twigs and leaves taped to it. “So cheer up and put that star on, okay?”

“Okay.” Sephie muttered trying to fake a smile. Rho chewed on the bottom of her lip before shrugging. Rho wrapped her arms around Sephie's waist, and lifted her younger sister, stumbling left and right to keep balance.

“A little to the left Dante.”

“Okay, okay.” Rho gasped stepping over to the left a bit. She accidentally tripped over one of Sephie's old dolls. She flew backwards bringing Sephie down with her. Sephie yelped in surprise, then in pain as her finger got cut on the sharp star. Both of the girls tumbled to the floor with Sephie landing on Rho.

“Did you get the star on?” Rho groaned flipping over so that Sephie slid off.

“Yup.”

“Do you like it?”

“It's perfect.” Sephie said as she wrapped her arms around Rho's neck.

“Good then, it's time to head off to bed.” and before Sephie had any time to protest Rho shot her a very serious glare. With a huff she pulled on her pajamas and slipped into bed.

“I'm sorry Dante.” Sephie muttered half asleep. “I don't think Santa got my letter, so you might not get your present on time.”

“What did you ask for?” Rho asked as she crawled into bed right next to Sephie.

“For you to get parents.” Sephie yawned as she curled into a ball right next to Rho. Rho sighed and silently asked why. A couple seconds later she heard faint snores, and promptly gave up on the subject.

[DIETRICH BRAACH]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/9i7lsw.jpg,true][atrb=width,450,true] BLUNIVERSE PICTURES PRESENTS A HOLIDAY FEATURE FILM THE ADVENTURES OF VERDE: A CHRISTMAS SPECIAL ALSO KNOWN AS A PARODY OF MANY SHOWS AND BOOKS BECAUSE THE PRODUCERS CANNOT DECIDE Once upon a time, in a land far far away – “What kind of a title is that? And isn’t that opening line from another film?” a certain long-haired man shook his fist and yelled into the wide expanse of clear blue sky, “Oiiiiii I don’t know who you are, but aren’t you supposed to introduce me? The protagonist?” A cough rumbled from the heavens before continuing with the narration, pointedly ignoring the fact that the title of the film was indeed suspiciously strange. Dietrich Braach, better known as Verde – said protagonist flipped his green hair proudly – in his village, was a strapping young man who was famous for his looks. He had a healthy glowing complexion that girls would be envious of and a lean muscular stature that boosted his popularity ranks in the really small village with a population of ten. Five males and five females lived together, sharing the responsibility of taking care of their gardens and fields and rather cute but otherwise useless animals. Stroking the fur of a fluffy kitten, Dietrich sighed. Living in The Village meant that one led a stable and comfortable existence, yet all he thought of was exploring the lands that laid beyond the Dark Forest encircling The Village. “That’s it!” He stood up, almost dropping the kitten into a recently dug hole to grow cabbages. “I shall leave The Village today!” Sweeping his beautiful hair into a ponytail, Dietrich hurried to his cottage to change into a clean set of clothes and pack his luggage. A bright red quilted Chanel backpack with the interlocking double ‘C’s was lifted carefully by our excited protagonist before he started folding several clothing and necessities for his adventure. “Of course, this bag is all thanks to the generous sponsor, Chanel. For more information on their latest collections, please visit their website.” Dietrich flashed a wide smile as he tucked in the last of his belongings. “Who are you talking to, Verde?” Villager Number Two stopped at the opened doorway with genuine puzzlement. “Nobody at all.” Another flash of a cheesy smile at the same direction he had been talking to, and Dietrich heaved the backpack onto his shoulders. Waving goodbye to his fellow villagers who sobbed and protested against him leaving – “We’d end up with an odd number and that’s ugly!” – Dietrich marched bravely towards the Dark Forest where it was rumoured that a giant man-eating monster dwelled. The weather changed on cue, the sky darkening with gloomy clouds appearing. Better find some shelter soon. Dietrich was glad that he had worn his trusty boots that could last through all sorts of weather conditions and terrain, and had the sense to wear a long-sleeved tee over his singlet and cargo pants. The temperature was usually cool in The Village whereas the Dark Forest was known for temperatures that plummeted and then rose abruptly like a wild rollercoaster. Hours turned into days and nights. Our energetic, and somewhat silly, protagonist moved through the Dark Forest, spirits high and cheerfully whistling in spite of the sudden rains, storms and scorching heat that had him mumbling expletives that were removed in lieu with the kids-friendly rating. One moonlit night, after spending two hours pampering his hair, Dietrich was getting ready to sleep. He was certain that he would be able to venture out of the Dark Forest in a day or two. Stretching, he was about to snuggle into the warmth of his sleeping bag when a loud crack echoed in the night. All senses on alert, he grabbed a dagger and crouched behind a tree, trying to spot what or who made the sound. A shadow fell across his back, and a spindly finger tapped our brave protagonist’s shoulder. Turning, Dietrich found himself face-to-face with something that he had only heard about. “You…” his hand shook, “You’re…” Green eyes widened in shock, then blinked. “Who are you?” Sadly, Dietrich was only concerned with matters concerning himself, therefore he had no knowledge of the rumour of the man-eating monster. The monster leered at Dietrich, its tongue running across razor sharp teeth. “’N who are ya?” it slouched to get a better look at the green-hair maiden – it was easy to mistake Dietrich for a woman, especially with his effeminate charm – with one eye narrowing in amusement, “Green? Wha’ a funny colour.” Dietrich was obviously offended by the giant’s choice of words. Huffing in exasperation, he forgot about his fear and immediately retorted. “Maybe I’m born with it, maybe it’s…” he shook his head, “Nah, I’m definitely born with it. It’s a pretty colour… anyway I’m Dietrich, but you can call me Verde. You? What’s your name?” Now, the monster never had the chance to engage in any conversation because of crazy rumours surrounding him, so he was surprised that Dietrich actually bothered to talk to him. “Axe. Name’s Axe.” He finally answered. “Alright. Nice to meet you, Axe. Are you an explorer too?” Axe stared downwards at Dietrich, unable to formulate a response. He had been living in the Dark Forest for a long time. Years ago, he had been eating a life-size gingerbread man and enjoying a cup of red wine in his tent when a scream had him scrambling out to check what happened. Villager Number Three’s mother, a petite loud-mouthed woman, had seen the shadows tumbling across Axe’s tent and thought that he had been chewing off a traveller’s limb. The split red wine did little to clear his name, and Axe was forced to wander the Dark Forest as punishment. Deciding that explaining his life story would take a long time, Axe simply offered a curt response. “Imma wanderer.” Meanwhile, Dietrich was fascinated by a series of sepia-coloured moving images screened onto the tree bark. “That guy looks exactly like you! Wow… so you’re actually an actor huh?” he nudged Axe with a grin, “Oh look! That woman reminds me of Number Three’s mother… oh my, she’s screaming like a crazy woman!! Hahaha!!” With a twitching vein popping on his forehead, Axe reluctantly put up with Dietrich babbling on about how his green hair should be a useful feature if he ever became an actor. After three hours of self-praise, our protagonist finally fell asleep against Axe, letting our scary-but-really-friendly-and-is-actually-a-fake-antagonist-now-turned-protagonist breathe out a huge sigh of relief. The next morning, with Dietrich’s encouragement (read: cajoling and threats of telling The Village that Axe had a collection of sweet little teddy bears), the mismatched pair continued towards the edge of the Dark Forest. The ex-man-eating monster had very nicely plucked berries for his vain companion who insisted that he was too pretty to do such a menial task. “Look!” Dietrich pointed, “We’re here!” A blanket of white greeted the pair, with snow covering the entire landscape. Holding on tightly to his shirt and Chanel backpack, he started skipping forward, only to be pulled back by Axe. The giant was shivering badly in his tattered clothes. “Hold up. Yer hear dat? Somebody’s singin’.” The two paused and listened hard. There was indeed a soft melodious tune carried by the winds. Curiosity pushed them towards the source – a lady dressed in a white gown. Once they were closer, Dietrich and Axe realised that there were no words, only a fiery heartrending emotion in the tune that contrasted with the icy cold surroundings. The woman was carrying a small bundle in her arms while singing, her light blond hair cascading over shoulders and covering part of the bundle. “Who’s there?” she stopped the song and stared at the intruders. With a charming smile and gentlemanly bow from Dietrich, and an awkward nod from Axe, the former spoke up. “We apologise for interrupting your wonderful performance… it’s just that… your singing had captivated us.” “Who are you and why are you here?” She held the bundle closer to her bosom, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Unknown to our protagonists, beyond the Dark Forest was the territory of dark faeries known as The Frosts. They were a beautiful race with horrific practices of immersing trespassers in a lifetime of paperwork and sometimes extending life-spans so that none of the Frosts had to be concerned with filling forms and stamping letters. Dietrich raised a brow in surprise. “Us?” The woman nodded. “Why, we are the… INVINCIBLE TRIO! Verde’s the name! And Axe’s his name!” Bursting into a cheerful jingle, Dietrich spun and started tap dancing on the spot, much to Axe’s chagrin and thinly veiled amusement from the woman. “And we’re here to spread love, joy and peace to everyone on this beautiful day known as CHRISTMAS!!!” Pressing a button, a young man paused the video on the LCD screen and folded his arms with a frown. “Okay. This show was a total flop! I mean, who on Earth goes on an adventure with a Chanel bag? Impractical!! And the Invincible Trio? There’s only the two of them! Don’t you think it’s ridiculous, Isolde?” He turned and watched as the elegant woman continued decorating the Christmas tree at the corner of their apartment. “Ridiculous? That’s an understatement, Verde. Do you know how hard it was to keep up with that silly accent?” Another voice boomed from the kitchen, before its owner strode out. He had straight black hair and was abnormally tall, hence the apartment had high ceilings to accommodate to his height. “And don’t get me started on the makeup for my eyes… the stupid production team insisted on having one eye because ‘it would add to the monstrosity’.” Grumbling, Axe plopped onto the comfortable couch, playfully pulling Dietrich’s hair at the same time. “Ouch! Stop it! You meanie!” Dietrich pouted and tried to do the same to Axe, starting a battle of wills involving childish and generally harmless fighting. “Now, now, there’s no need to fight… boys,” the two men froze when a familiar voice started speaking, “Besides, the only reason why the three of us agreed to being part of that film was because all proceeds would go to charity…” Isolde had finished hanging the lights on the tree, and was about to join them on the couch. “And despite the less-than-stellar script, it did have a very heart-warming message about cherishing your family and friends, and remembering the origin of Christmas.” There were meek nods and mumbles of agreement from the cowering men. “It’s almost midnight… why don’t we put the remaining decorations on the tree together before retiring for the night? We’ll have a scrumptious breakfast together tomorrow before opening our presents.” While it sounded like a genuine question, both men knew that Isolde was merely phrasing it that way. They had no choice but to follow her ‘suggestion’. Dietrich Braach, a celebrity whose fame started after starring as a homosexual cross-dresser in a gritty drama series chronicling the lives of men and women in post-World War Two Germany, had been the subject of controversy ever since the tabloids dug out information about his family. His father had been in two marriages, one of which was filled with numerous affairs with other women from all walks of life. Dietrich was his son from his second marriage, and Axe was the product of the seventh extramarital affair. Due to his odd height, Axe made a name for himself by being a street performer, and had acknowledged Dietrich as his brother after their father passed away in 2001. The two brothers had been living together since then, sharing a snazzy apartment located just five minutes from New York’s Broadway. And how did Isolde fit into the picture? It was simple, really, and for those who believed in a higher cosmic power… perhaps that was Fate too. The daughter of a politician running for the governor’s seat, Isolde was suitably prim and proper. Years of hiding her passionate love for performing in musicals had stifled her, until she met Dietrich and Axe during the premiere of the green-haired man’s movie – The Adventures of Verde. Somehow friendship blossomed, and they ended up sharing the snazzy apartment with Isolde finally finding the courage to be an actress, and the two brothers becoming her best friends and confidantes. “Could you put this on the top?” Isolde passed the golden star ornament to the giant, who obliged her request with a smile. With their Christmas tree finally decorated, the trio smiled in unison. This would be the first time they were spending Christmas together. Without the constant flashes of lights from cameras, without going on talk shows to chat with hosts who usually had egos the size of China, without needing to put up a front in front of others just to make their publicists and audiences happy with what they thought they knew about them. They returned to their rooms. Axe sleeping in his customised bed that could contain his legs, Dietrich happily snuggling in between soft thick covers, and Isolde falling asleep on a bed in the room between the brothers’ and could have been mistaken for a child’s playroom. The three might dream of a future where Earth no longer existed and they excelled just as wonderfully in whatever they were doing, even if they were separated. Or they may have fallen into a dreamless sleep, eager to awaken in the morning when they would open up the presents they prepared for one another. For the image-conscious Dietrich, Axe had ordered products for his hair and skin from La Roche-Posay while Isolde had arranged to pay for all of his expenses at several of Dietrich’s favourite stores. The pretty man would be flattered and shower them with more love and attention, just as he always did, through the good times and the bad. As for Axe, his brother would surprise him with another pair of customised leather shoes and jogging shoes, and Isolde would present him with free tickets to Disneyland. They knew that Axe was an overgrown child who was too embarrassed to admit it. And, for the ‘mother’ of their cosy apartment, Dietrich and Axe had come up with an ingenious gift of vouchers for all occasions. They were designed by Axe – a surprising talent that he had – and Dietrich helped in filling up the vouchers. A ten-minute massage, a week’s worth of cleaning, a home-cooked dinner… all these could be used by Isolde whenever she felt overworked by taking care of the household. They were definitely an odd trio who might have grown out of believing in Santa Claus, but Christmas was one of those days when they could feel the magic in the air, and taste the happiness brimming from everyone who could spare a friendly wave and a ‘Merry Christmas!’ to strangers. All they needed, was to believe in each other – a person who was willing to see and accept them for who they were. CREDITS AND A SORT-OF-AFTERWORD: Hopefully this story has been an enjoyable read for everyone. I'd like to thank Hannie (Hanrar) whose character, Austin Fox, gave a wonderful nickname to Dietrich - Verde. It has been stuck in my head for a long time, and has provided inspiration for a series of stories called The Adventures of Verde that I've yet to pen. Also, the term 'Bluniverse' was coined by Pasc and Hannie (I think)... so I'm not going to take any credit for that! There were also many movies, books, and various materials I've watched and read that were either vaguely or blatantly referenced to in this story. None of that belongs to me either. Lastly, I'd like to wish everyone HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Have fun with family and friends, stay safe, and most importantly - be happy ^^

[cinnamonpita2426]

"I HATE snow."Tabbi stated flatly as she trudged through the white mess. The day had been steadily warming up, and the snow was beginning to melt into slush. Making things all that more miserable for Tabbi as she dejectedly marched on towards the store. She wasn't doing anything special for the holidays, happy about it too, and decided to fetch some goodies from the market to entertain her. 'Plum wine, Stouffers Macaroni and Cheese, and a slice of Turtle Dove Cheesecake.' The groceries she needed flittered through her mind as she continued on, forming into a mantra of sorts. No other thought mattered, she just needed to get to the store, get the groceries, and get out of the snow. Out of this awful, frozen, white abominable weather. However, the mantra began to grow fainter as thoughts as to where her unique hatred for snow originated from started to poke through the surface.


'Why do I hate snow? Have I always hated snow? No...I don't think so.'Tabbi contemplated, her pace beginning to slow from an irritated march to a contemplative walk, her mind trying to remember why she had gained this hatread for snow. Why was it? Surely she had a reason. And then it hit her. A ton of bricks falling smack dab onto her thoughts. 'Oh...That's why.', thought Tabbi cooly as the grocery mantra was stomped out of her mind, leaving only images from a distant past with her. A past where she didn't mind the snow so much. Her body halted to a stop in snow, her face turning up to the snowflakes falling from the clouds, her thoughts taking her down memory lane.


It was snowing then, just like today, maybe a little harder even. Tabbi was seven, innocent, and outgoing. Her father, Edward, and her had been out getting some Apple Cider from the store. The young girl's legs clumsily stumbled through the deep snow, trying to keep pace with her father's long, fluid strides. She was so captivated by the frozen landscape, all of her attention directed to the transforming nature. So of course, due to her distraction with the changes, she didn't see the rock barely protruding through a thin coating of the white mess. Her booted foot instantly caught the edge of it, sending her flying face first into the snow.


Tabbi wasn't known to cry as a child. She was a trooper all right. Always sucking it up. And so, Tabbs held back the tears. Gently pulling herself from the snow, and rolling onto her back to stare at the falling snowflakes. Her cheeks were chafed and raw from rubbing against the snow, and a few patches of the white mess were stuck to them. Edward looked back to see his daughter no longer at his side, but instead laying. Sighing and turning to face her he said, "Tabitha! Come on now! We have to get the Apple Cider back home to your mother so we can start the festivities!"

[/b]. However, Edward might as well have been talking to himself. Tabbi didn't so much as respond to him in anyway. She just lay there. Staring up at the snowflakes. Giving up, Edward shrugged and gently walked over to his daughter, flopping down beside her, Cider in tow.


They lay there together, just enjoying the utter silence for a few moments before Edward turned to face his daughter, asking her an innocent question. "Do you know what a snow angel is, Tabitha?" Instantly intriguied, Tabbi turned her small innocent blue orbs, swimming with curiosity, to look at her father. She lightly shook her head, signaling a no. Edward merely smiled, and replied,"Well, I guess I'll have to show you then." He then began to instruct on how to move her arms, showing her how to bring them out to form and X-shape, and tuck them back in closely to her body, repeating the motion several times. Tabbi began quite timidly, moving her arms slightly out and back in. Though, after a few minutes, she was flailing wildly, her little arms and legs going a hundred miles an hour.


After a few minutes of thoroughly moving their arms and legs in said forms, they both stopped. Panting, Edward stood from his spot, offering his had to Tabbs and pulling her up. Spinning around, the pair stared at the figures imprinted into the snow. Edward's was perfectly indented into the white covered ground, looking angelic. In contrast to Tabb's, which was slightly askew and jagged from all her flailing, but just glowed with this quality of pure happiness. Leaving it angelic in it's own special way. Then, leaning down to place his face near Tabbi, Edward whispered, "Beautiful,"into her ear. The snow on her cheeks from before slowly melting, leaving them damp and frozen.


Edward's words echoed throughout Tabbi's mind. Banging against her craniums walls until the wetness upon her cheeks began to feel quite real. Blinking rapidly, she yanked herself from the dream, her head snapping back to face forward. Tabbs brought a shaking hand up to her face, her fingertips brushing against the freezing liquid upon her cheeks. 'I don't remember crying...', she thought to herself as her brain began to take in her surroundings, coming back down to Earth. She wasn't crying, was she? Why would she, Tabbi Stankevich, cry over something pathetic as a memory? It was only a memory, right? Why would that make her cry?! The questions furiously bombarded her mind, until one small pondering broke through the vicious mob of questions, silencing everything else. 'Why did my parents have to die?'


Shaking her head back and forth at a neckbreaking pace she forced all of those thoughts into the deep depths of her subconcious. Forever out of existence, or at least until she let down her guard again. Tabbi took in a few deep breaths, clearing her mind, and allowing the grocery mantra to worm its way back in. Her legs beginning to move once again, continuing their trudge through the slush. A breeze picked up, lightly freezing the liquid on Tabbi's face. She didn't care though. At the moment, she didn't care about anything. Too bad though, maybe if she did, she might actually be able to make a decent snow angel now. Tabbi's next statement sounded more like a question than the falsely determined statement it was meant to be. Her words coming out thick, her voice raw with some unmentionable emotion. "I HATE snow.[/font][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

Lyrics -> Snow White Queen by Evanescence
Credit -> LunarFlowerAngel from Caution 2.0!
Notes -> Sorry for this being so long! I know...but I swear it should be interesting! A little glimpse into my character's haunting past, and her angst! Whoo! I hope you like it! Also, I wanted to say thank you to Caution 2.0 and LunarFlowerAngel for the lovely template I am using! I feel that it fits perfectly. :3 Let me know whatcha think of the lil story, if you like. Thanks!

[XAVIER]

"Dude, please tell me that's a wig or something!" exclaimed a rugged man in his mid-twenties.

"Nope!" gleefully replied his friend -- taller and slimmer than the first, "Why? You don't like it?"

"I don't know if you realize this... but, your hair... it's bright pink!"

"Zac, I'm not colorblind, ya' know!"

"And... you thought that this would be funny or something?"

"Nah, I actually think it looks pretty good on me!"

Zac's gaping mouth was fruitlessly grasping for words, any words that could penetrate his friend's thick skull. His friend watched the anticipated reaction with glee -- it vividly reminded him of a fish flopping around, gasping for air. Eventually, Zac just stopped trying to talk, glared at his friend's bright mop of hair, and exclaimed, " Xavi, dude... YOU ARE INSANE!"

After attempting to compose himself (and failing horribly) from a fit of uncontrollable laughter, he replied, "I'm well aware of that fact, but only because you insist on reminding me! So, are we riding now, or should I laugh at the look on your face some more?"

Xavier practically lived to annoy Zac, and he was damn good at it, too. "You are one crazy bastard! You know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know! Go get the bikes ready!"

Zac just shook his head, muttering something about a hellish pink Christmas light on his way out of their little dilapidated apartment. Xavi also shook his head, but with a smile. Sometimes Zac was just too serious and couldn't have any fun at all. Granted, Xavi knew how he felt; they lived in a decrepit little fire trap, but lacked the money to live anywhere else. The windows were broken, the support beams were showing through the walls, and there wasn't a single piece of furniture that hadn't been chewed up by rats in that featureless room. Xavi knew that Zac saw it as a prison and, although he didn't feel the same way, desperately wanted to get him a real apartment. Someplace that Zac could honestly call 'home'. Xavier, of course, wouldn't stay long. He was a wanderer in the purest sense or the word, jumping from apartment to apartment, city to city, state to state. This didn't mean that he forgot about the people he had befriended as soon as he left; he cared about all of them more or less.

Before running outside to join Zac, Xavi hurriedly pulled out a small evergreen which he had earlier stashed into a hole in the wall. Xavi didn't have legitimate ornaments and the apartment didn't have electricity, so he had to get creative with decorations. It had a fuzzy pink boa, stolen from some high-class hag about a year ago, wrapped around it like garland and cut-out snowflakes, painstakingly ripped from discarded newspapers and wallpaper, scattered over the sparse needles. At the very top Xavi placed a spare friction plate he had for his motorcycle, while at the base he placed a small, unadorned box. He knew that he wouldn't get to see Zac open up that gift, but he also knew that the money contained within was enough to grant him with a new start at life. Oh, the look on his face would be priceless.

"What the hell are you waiting for up there?" Zac called from the base of the stairs, "Hurry up and get your ass down here!"

"Coming, Mother!" Xavi cried mockingly as he grabbed his black leather jacket and rushed outside.

It was snowing, but the light, feathery flakes melted as soon as they touched the ground. This area of New York wasn't much to look at. The dead ground was no more than unadorned dirt and the stoic buildings were no more than ruins, crumbling from neglect. The people who lived here didn't usually give the two friends much trouble, but they had been in their share of fights. From afar, they could see the northern part of the Bronx simply glowing with electricity. It was what most people would call 'festive', but it was really only materialistic hype for the wealthy. Here, in one of the rundown areas of the South Bronx, the holidays were just a time where people were reminded just how underprivileged they really were. There were no glowing lights, not lush Christmas trees, and certainly no money to buy anything for the occasion. Xavier was one of the lucky ones. In his childhood, he had received the best education that money could buy and was capable of supporting himself with his skills as a mechanic, street racer, and thief. The friends revved the engines of their motorcycles, two worn out beasts both personally constructed by Xavier.

Xavi lifted one hand, holding up three fingers. Two fingers. One.

Both bikes gave a great lurch of speed as they began racing around a pre-set course. Xavi had bet that Zac would win, just to mess with him, but he held a definitive lead over his less experienced friend. They sped along forgotten roads, between crumbling buildings, and past piles of unwanted garbage. The world zoomed past, and it felt as if they would warp time itself. The hum of the engine, the sharp bite of wind on his face, the blur of his surroundings -- all of it seemed so natural to Xavier. This was what he was meant to do.

After a while of being beaten out effortlessly by Xavier, Zac slowed down and came to a stop near a junkyard filled with rusted cars, all broken and rotted beyond any hope of repair. The homeless and impoverished had already stripped these ancient vehicles of anything of value - they were now just decaying metal corpses awaiting their return to the earth. Xavier followed Zac's lead, turning around and turning off his engine so they could hear each other better.

"Hey, I was going to bring this up before, but you sort of distracted me with that... that... crime--"

"Pink is not a crime!" Xavi retorted with a grin, before letting the subject of his hair drop.

"Oh yes it is, but, anyway - you know it's Christmas Eve, right?" The tone in his voice told Xavi that he would not like where this conversation was going. He didn't reply with a snarky comment, so Zac continued, "Well, you said it's been years since you've left your parents and I just thought--"

"I don't want to talk about them. They can rot with their money for all I care." Xavi lied coldly. Now it was Zac's turn to let the topic drop. He just nodded and started his bike up again, but before he could drive off, Xavi grabbed his arm and shouted over the engine "There's somewhere I need to go. In case I don't see you later, Merry Christmas!" Zac nodded again, this time with a faint smile on his face, before riding back to the apartment.

Xavi didn't start his bike up again for a few long moments. The snow fell silently, peacefully, in the junkyard. Time seemed to slow down, and the physical world seemed far away. He wouldn't be going back to the apartment with Zac. He didn't know exactly where he'd go after tonight, but he had to make a stop somewhere before he even thought about that.

After a relatively uneventful ride north, Xavi stopped his bike outside of a three story house adorned in bright holiday lights and giant plastic candy canes. The neighborhood surrounding it was clean, orderly, and decidedly rich - the polar opposite of where he had just driven from. He pulled out an envelope smudged with grime from his jacket, turning it over in his hand ponderously. There was a letter inside, a Christmas card to be exact, which he had started writing years ago. He could deliver it. Or he could keep it for a few more years. Hell, he could even keep it for the rest of his life! But he was here now, and it would be pointless to turn back now. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed and put the envelope in the little snow-covered mailbox. With one last look at the house, he started his engine and drove off into the night.

"Mom, Dad... Merry Christmas."

author's note: err, that was a tad longer than I expected... hopefully you enjoy it! ^-^
Also, I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday and have a happy New Year! <3

[AUSTIN FOX]

last christmas i gave you my heart

Austin Fox never was much of a person to get into the “Christmas spirit.” He hardly gave presents to anybody, and mostly only cared about getting his own gifts. But this was to be expected, of course. Austin Fox was a very self-centered person. Its not that he didn’t have the money or was too heartless…he just didn’t care. He didn’t care about a lot of things, like getting good grades or being on time for things or if a hot girl had a boyfriend already.

Besides, Austin would only give gifts to people he liked, of course. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of friends and he hardly really liked any of his “girlfriends,” if you can even call them that. One would think this would be a lonely life, but Austin didn’t seem to mind at all.

However, as of late, a new girl had found her way into Austin’s life and – though he tried to stop it – his heart. He’d never admit that, though. To be honest, Amelia Walker scared him. She had the power to turn him into a babbling, uncoordinated puddle of a man, and that wasn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling for someone as self confident as himself.

The last time he had fallen for a girl, she hurt him. He wasn’t going to be stupid enough to just let it happen again. So, like the mature nineteen year old he was, Austin was a complete jerk to the girl. He figured the meaner he was to her, the more put off she’d be, and there’d be no chance of her ever wanting to be with him if his insanity took over and forced him to tell her how he really felt.

That didn’t stop him from dreaming, and the night of Christmas Eve was no exception. However, he wasn’t ready for the dream that was in store for him that night. Austin never expected to become a modern day Ebenezer Scrooge, but apparently three ghosts of literary past found it wise to visit him that night…

~~~

When Austin “awoke,” he was dead in the center of a party. He wasn’t sure why he was at a party and he really wasn’t sure why he could control his dream self, but he didn’t pay much mind until he spun around to see a rather…interesting character. In front of him stood a small blonde woman with a pine wreath headband and a green cloak shrouding her shoulders, obscene white eye shadow sparkling on her eyelids. Was that…snow in her hair?

“I didn’t realize this was a Christmas party,” Austin smirked at her. Whoever this woman was, she was attractive. He had forgotten this was a dream until everybody in the room froze in place, except for the woman and himself. That was a little freaky.

“Don’t you know who I am, Austin?” she finally asked, her voice a bit too high pitched for his taste. He preferred Amelia’s voice to hers; Amelia’s voice was a perfect balance, it was beautiful, and he could listen to it for hours…while this strange woman’s voice would easily get annoying.

How he could deny his love for Amelia was a feat in and of it self.

Cocking his head, he tried to think if he remembered this mysterious girl. “Not really. Did we meet at a party and hook up, or what…?” The woman just sighed and shook her head, moving to stand next to him. Austin dwarfed her; she barely stood to his shoulder, though the long hair piled on top of her head made her appear taller than she was.

“No…” she drew out with another sigh, wrapping her velveteen cloak around her tightly before letting it fall slack again. “Austin, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, and I’m here to teach you a lesson.”

By now he was sufficiently confused, and could hardly believe any of this…until he remembered this was a dream, yet again. He sighed with acknowledgement, crossing his arms. “Oh, okay. So this is gonna be something like that crazy ass book where the guy is visited by three ghosts in the night…”

The woman just smiled and nodded, looking back out at the still frozen crowd. “So, you’ve seen our work!” Stepping back a bit, she looked up at him. “I know you think this is just a dream, but if I were you…I’d listen to what we’ve all got to say.” Her voice was almost commanding, and it grated on Austin’s nerves slightly.

Without waiting for his response, the party crowd unfroze and everyone started moving again, gyrating and dipping. The music pulsated with dense thuds and the pounding of the bass went straight through him. It was a feeling Austin knew well, and a feeling he loved.

Just as he was about to say something, however, he noticed the woman was gone. Smirking, he figured she had left, and started to make his way through the crowd. Nobody was looking, like they usually did, but he wasn’t about to complain. It was a party, his niche, and he was fitting in almost perfectly.

That is until he saw an exact copy of himself on the opposite side of the crowd.

The blonde woman was standing next to him, but was looking straight at Austin. It was a very strange and eerie feeling, he had to admit, and took a few tentative steps forward. “What’s going on…?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. I said that already, didn’t I?” she explained, rolling her eyes slightly before drawing her cloak around her tighter. “And this is a Christmas of your past. Do you remember it?”

As hard as he could try to remember it, Austin couldn’t. He placed himself at about roughly nineteen, which would have made this last Christmas. “Oh, s’right. I went to a party but I can’t remember anything about it.” With a slight smirk, he added as he watched his doppelganger down another drink, “And now I can see why.”

He watched with a smirk as a girl knelt in front of him, her hands all over the fly of his jeans, but the woman began to speak again. “I bet you also don’t remember a certain someone who was here that night…” Mystified, Austin looked back at her, but she was gone again. When he found her, she was standing only a few feet away from his copy…and right next to Amelia Walker. His heart caught in his throat. “Amelia…she was here?”

The ghost nodded. “She was, and…she was upset. Can’t you see that?”

Austin was about to ask how the woman knew this until he looked at Amelia’s face for a second time. She had noticed Austin with the other girl, and her expression was a combination of both disgust and…was that hurt? He couldn’t tell, but to say the least, he was extremely confused. He was almost sure that Amelia hated him.

“What does this mean?” he asked, looking back at the ghost, but she was gone. Everything was gone in the simple turn of his head. He was left in pitch darkness, until a scene started to fade into his view very slowly. Austin was so engrossed in watching the vision unfold, he didn’t notice when a black hooded and cloaked figure appeared next to him, until the figure spoke.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Future,” he breathed in a voice, barely above a whisper.

Austin jumped what seemed to be ten feet in the air, his eyes wide. “Who the hell are you?!” he exclaimed, demanding that the hooded person identify himself. “Wait…I thought Present came before futur—”

Just as Austin was talking, the ghost pushed him forward and pointed at a door at the end of a hallway. Glaring back at the ghost, he still continued to walk, though he wasn’t sure if it was his own will. As he made his way down the hall, he glanced into other rooms, seeing the corner of a Christmas tree in one, and the view of a snowy yard through a window in the other. Before he knew it, he was at the door.

Slowly grasping the handle, he pushed the door open with a slight creak. To Austin’s surprise, it was a nursery. Yet again, it was very safe to say he was perplexed. With another glance over his shoulder, he could still see the cloaked figure at the end of the hall. As he walked farther into the room, he finally saw himself, sitting in a chair between two cribs, a bit hunched over. When he studied further, he could see he was holding his head in his hands.

Still very puzzled, he glanced around the room. Some pictures on a shelf caught his eye, and he slowly walked over. As he got closer and closer, the figures in the photographs got more and more familiar…which caused him to get more and more confused.

“Is that…Amelia?” he mused as he picked up one frame. The photo did in fact depict Amelia. What was strange was that next to her was Austin, himself, and in her arms were two small newborns. He presumed the babies that were in the cribs were the ones in the picture, but that didn’t make any sense. They were…his? His and Amelia’s?

Before he had a chance to ask any questions aloud, he heard some movement across the room. Looking back, he watched himself stand up and walk over to one of the cribs, looking down into it. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was forcing himself to get up.

“What a Christmas,” the future Austin said softly into the crib. Reaching into it, he carefully lifted out a baby, holding it close to him. He watched himself stroke the baby’s wispy blonde hair, he watched as the baby clung to him tightly. “Mommy would’ve loved to see your first Christmas…”

‘Would’ve loved?’ Austin thought, quirking an eyebrow. ’Isn’t she here…?’

His question was never answered, however, before the scene faded back to black. Still puzzled, he didn’t get a chance to orient himself before the third and what he hoped was final scene. Before he noticed what the scene was…he noticed he was floating in midair.

“Wh-what the hell?!” he exclaimed, squirming around a bit before he figured out he wasn’t about to fall. When he turned back around, however, he saw a very…large man floating in front of him, adorned with a red cloak and a thick brown beard. Austin gave him a strange look, by now knowing he was a ghost. “Christmas Present?”

The man nodded and laughed, though Austin had no idea what was so funny. “Right you are, my boy! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, and I’m here to show you something.” The man floated towards a window on the side of the house in front of them, and Austin automatically followed, whether he wanted to or not.

Looking through the window, the ghost had a sad expression. “Now, Austin…what you’re about to see might be a little upsetting to you. It’s surely upsetting to me…”

Austin didn’t even get a chance to retaliate before he got closer and closer to the window, and just as he thought he would hit it, he cleanly slid through the glass and siding. He had no idea where he was until his feet touched the ground and he was able to familiarize himself, though he was still lost as to his location.

But then he heard a quiet sound… a soft whine that ended in a few sobbing gasps of breath. Whoever it was very distressed, and when he turned around, he knew why the ghost had told him what he might see would be upsetting.

Austin was standing in a bedroom, and on the bed was Amelia Walker, the girl he had begrudgingly fallen in love with and couldn’t get out of his head. The girl he’d been so mean to over the past year, though he cared about her so much. He was scared to admit he loved her, but when he saw her curled up on her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks…his heart ached to comfort her.

“Why?” she managed to gasp out, a few sobs escaping from her throat. “Why do I like him so much…?”

Now, this was unexpected. He took a few steps closer, listening to what she had to say.

“He hates me…so why do I like him?”

Austin was even more intrigued, but he tried to not get too hopeful. Could have her apparent dislike for him just been a ruse…? His heart couldn’t help but jump to his throat.

“Austin...y-you’re so damn annoying…why can’t I stop thinking about you?” she finally cried out exasperatedly, obviously frustrated by the situation. To say the least, Austin was very surprised. The girl who he thought hated him actually liked him, but he was pushing her away with his actions. He had no idea why he believed what this dream was telling him, but he did.

This was the realization.

~~~

Austin remembered the number on the front of the house, and made his way to Amelia’s the next day. He didn’t care that it might be strange for him to show up on her doorstep on Christmas day, but he had to tell her. After what his dream had told him last night, he couldn’t hold off any longer. He had never been so sure of anything in his life…even if it was because of a crazy dream he had had.

Knocking on the door a few times, he waited for her to answer the door. Wrapping his jacket around himself tighter, he rocked back and forth in slight anticipation. Could one blame him?

A few moments later, the blonde girl in question answered the door, and appeared to be surprised by him at her door. “Austin…?”

He couldn’t help but smile a little when he saw her. Now that the pretense of being a jerk was gone, he could be a bit more like himself. The “himself” that nobody ever got to see. “Hi…”

“Why are you here?” she said shortly, apparently not too happy to see him here. Austin understood her curtness…he hadn’t been nice to her in the past, of course. What else could she expect?

“Its kind of strange…but I have something to tell you,” he replied, arms still wrapped around himself to block out the biting cold of December. “Or, admit, I guess…”

Sighing, he saw her roll her eyes. “What is it? I’m busy…”

Despite the fact that she was unhappy to see him and annoyed, he couldn’t help but smile. It was picture perfect…Christmas day, a light snow falling, blankets of it covering the yard. Even though she was mad, it was perfect. Everything with Amelia was perfect. Austin paused a bit before glancing back at her, and she looked even more impatient.

“Merry Christmas, Amelia,” he said, smiling still.

“Is that it?” she asked, confused and irritated. Shaking his head, Austin took a few steps closer to her, and she looked up at him.

“No. I also wanted to tell you…that I love you.”

That thing that had scared him so much for the past year had finally come out…and he wasn’t afraid anymore. In fact, it was one of the best Christmases he’s had in a long, long time, no matter what her reaction was.

[/justify]

THIS WAS TOO LONG OMGGGG I'M SO SORRY

[jeudi]

JEUDI PASQUEL
i'm normal in an unconventional way

<sup>Have you ever believed in ghosts?

Well, I am one.

Feeling bemused now, that now you can see through your safe little suburban plastic hamster wheel of security and righteousness?

Well,

You should.

Me, I’m as dead as a doorknob that was brought to life by a mad scientist and then euthanized because I was declared too powerful. I didn’t die through euthanasia, though. It was suicide. I was feeling lost and unhappy. I did not like my life. I was a coward and a lazy bastard to think that tying a noose to my curtain rod and jumping out the window with the other end of the rope attached to my very alive neck would solve my problems.

Tonight is the seventh Christmas since that very strong, supple robe tightened around my very fragile, breathing neck.

Tonight is the seventh Christmas since I made the biggest mistake of my life (or death? Ha. Dying has not made puns any funnier)

I stand in the middle of the sidewalk and feel the frosty breath I breathe and the sensation of my bare toes in slushy black snow and the purring of the cars as they rush by me. People swathed in jackets and scarves and hats and boots rush by and through me, ignoring me.

Because, you see, I am dead.

Because, you see, this is hell.

I have not met anyone like me in the time I’ve wandered this city. I have begun to suspect that I need closure to move on.

But how do I achieve closure on something that quite frankly, never opened to me?

What is left for me in this city? Why am I the only one who was decided to stay? I thought I ended everything when I killed myself. Why can’t I just die for real?

I turn a corner on the street, nightgown swaying in the wind. I am greeted with a plethora of multicolored Christmas lights, strung along the shops invitingly. I never liked Christmas. It was that time of year where other children got new socks and chocolate and gaming platforms and family and love. For my family, it was a time of receiving nothing. According to my father, I wasn’t to be spoiled and pampered. I agree with him now. Far too many children nowadays are brats whose parents live parallel lives with them. No doubt they will grow up to be dependent on the people around them, whereas people like me grew up autonomous and self-sufficient. Kids nowadays wouldn't be able to handle my current, ah, 'condition'. I was groomed from the start to handle loneliness and rejection and grief and feelings of hopelessness. I suppose my parents assumed that any normal human didn't need help to feel happy. I suppose they were wrong.

"Hey, Santa." I feel like a fool. "You kinda missed me the past, uh, twenty three Christmases of my life. As in, my whole life."

"So I'm asking for something special this year, to compensate for all those other years."

"Can you..." I pause.

"Could you teach me..." I bite my lip.

"Would you teach me how to be hap-"

I hesitate.

I inhale.

I exhale.

"This is fucking ridiculous."

I spit on the ground.

I present the middle finger of my hand perfectly to the heavens where no doubt, a morbidly obese bastard in a red suit will see it.

I turn on my heel,

And leave.</sup>

( OOC ) pffft this is pretty short & depressing whoopee

[/sup][/blockquote][/justify]

[wtfjuice]

A Different Sort of Hunting Ground

The Hunter grunted in anticipation of his prey. He had studied it for a long time. Billowing grey fur and a set of arms that could grip firm on its unfortunate victims and smother them fully. It was the perfect prey, so rare, so elusive. Everyone wanted it and everyone knew that finding it would be a trial.

Benelli loved a challenge. He sought out before the sun peeked its ugly visage over the horizon and was already on the hunting grounds. The first entrance was easily traversed, but the second, he made a bit of effort; shoving his way into the main trail through the ravenous forest about him. Any wrong move and he might be swallowed whole.

Finally, he pushed his way through and was now faced with another predicament. A strong current flowed in front of him and without proper preparation, he would be sucked into the current and forced to move along until and opening occurred, and he wasn't about to let his prey get away from him, or worse, let another hunter get it before him. Leaning forward slightly, he rushed in a dead sprint through the current, forcing a heavy push in the eastward direction which nearly forced him to trip. It was then he realized it:

The people. THE PEOPLE. They were everywhere! All around him the sounds of frustrated cries and triumphant laughter suddenly filled his ears. He nearly had to drop to a fetal position just stop the violent noises about him. Clothes lay in disheveled messes as far from their specified location as possible. This was a madhouse. What areas weren't covered by people were either filled by larger objects which the shoppers threatened to break with their incessant need to consume. Like animals of a different sort, they consumed by taking from steel canopies and stealing what was already claimed by others. Vicious, terrifying. A prey that wouldn't be worth hunting for there would be no end to them and no prize from their demise. The owners of these Consumer Jungles were hard-pressed to satisfy the insatiable hunger of the unrelenting predators; more slaves than owners at this point.

Black Friday. A true hunter's nightmare and necessary day to venture into the wilds. Amateur's would wait impatiently outside of the hunting grounds to be allowed entry. It was like releasing a million wild animals into a pen for these 'hunters' to prey upon without consequence or failure. When there were no more animals to hunt, the owners were blamed and were ordered to bring more.

Clothing was the choice of prey, as well as appliances and jewelry. All of them were cheap to the point that stealing them would have no purpose.

Benelli made one final attempt, placing his hands upon a corpulent woman and giving a massive shove in the opposing direction of the steam. As the woman stumbled backward in confusion and distress, Benelli used to sudden break in the current to move forward and across the stream. He couldn't ask for a better opportunity either. Straight ahead of him, the women's coats were in clear view. His prime hunting location and his overall goal for the day. If he could reach this area, he would be done with his journey and he could escape this nightmare.

Another small jungle lie ahead of him, a family of about eight were stationary in the middle of the aisle. The patriarch of the family held a long strip of paper and held it up to the light as though he were deciphering a code. A man who was no longer hunting but chose to disrupt its natural flow. Benelli grit his teeth in annoyance as he stopped at the family who blocked his path.

"Excuse me..."

Benelli spoke with as much kindness as he could, but his large form and his unshaven appearance threw the family off almost instantly. The patriarch stood out front as though to protect his herd. He pocketed the receipt and puffed his chest out in a show of dominance.

"Can I help you?"

Benelli finally took time to examine this man, six feet even and weighing about two hundred pounds with a generous amount of muscle mass to match his frame. His scalp was shaved clean and his ebony skin gave him a type of nobility to his aggressive form. A normal person wouldn't fuck with the type, but Benelli needed through and he wasn't about to let this gym mascot get in his way.

The Hunter bore his pearly whites and straightened his once bent frame to stand over the man.

"You're in my way."

The patriarch's eyes darted over the Hunter's form for a bit and glanced about before holding up his hand as though he had forgotten something.

"Oh! I'm sorry. Honey, the kids."

The party dispersed after a moment of adjustment and finally the Hunter was allowed passage through.

He was finally in his hunting grounds and his prey was so close he could almost feel it. Observation finally brought him to find that most of the steel canopies had been picked clean. A few pea coats and shawls were draped over the racks as though they were reminders of being picked clean. Like skulls mounted atop pikes they meant: "There is nothing for you here, turn back."

The Hunter would not be discouraged. He picked through the remains, lifting a few of the coats to examine the contents and remains. Nothing even similar to what he was looking for.

After five minutes of searching and pushing through the irate consumers, he thought to give up his hunt. However, as he pulled a final coat back, he found it. Two of them, brown fur on one and grey fur on the other. The grey specimen looked especially enticing, it would look absolutely wonderful for what he had planned.

Reaching out rather slowly to keep his heart rate from racing, he took time to admire his prey. However, just as quickly as he found it, it was taken in a flash.

Turning his head, he noticed a short man with the coat in his possession. He didn't seem to be in a rush, or realized what he had done in the process of his hubris. With his prey gone, he would be forced to take the brown colored coat...

...

...

...

But fuck that.

Taking the brown coat from the rack, he dashed off after the man as he disappeared into the thick current ahead. Benelli was quick to follow, but this time he caught a break in the current. An old lady with a limp moved without worry, holding back a large group of people which all threatened to topple and conquer the elderly female. He used the opportunity to slip around in front of her just before the woman's cane gave out and the stampede trampled around her fallen form.

In front her now waited the final trial. A long line of people now waited to receive their spoils. Near the middle of the line was the short man with the grey coat. Undoubtedly for his wife and someone who would wear it once and dash the coat away. Gift giving was such an odd concept for Benelli. Why would you give someone a gift they would only use once or not at all?

Benelli would have to do this tactfully, he couldn't simply wrench the coat from the man's hands. Doing that would cause an uproar, something he figured would make quite a few people angry and turn on him. His body wasn't meant for a mob.

Benelli placed himself in a tactical position at the end of the line, keeping his eyes locked on the short male. He had to time this just perfect.

A minute passed before finally the male was allowed to the register, only seconds away from taking his spoils home. Benelli immediately left the line, which the people behind them happily and quickly took.

As the weary woman behind the register rang, Benelli stepped forward and timed his footsteps. He had to distract them both.

Upon the counter he could see the grey coat, the hanger had already been removed from the item and would be easier to take at that.

"And That'll be 57.72..."

Benelli acted. As the male moved to reach for his wallet, he asked in a rushed tone, "Excuse me where is the lingerie?" Benelli knew where it was, and it would distract her in the other direction. As the woman glanced into the direction with her hand pointed, Benelli quickly slid his left hand out and snatched the grey coat and spun it behind his back to his right while they worked in tandem to move the brown coat to the left. The coat was tossed messily up and over the counter to where it landed on the floor by the cashier. Before the man could notice, Benelli turned and walked in the direction of the lingerie department, balling the grey coat up and putting it to his chest to hide it from their eyes.

The Hunter didn't stop to listen to the distressed cries of the man, but the satisfaction of obtaining the coat would suffice. He approached another register and guarded the coat with his life until he left the store.

-----

Stepping out of the department store, he held the purchased coat in hand and smirked to himself in triumph. The breeze hit his skin though suddenly, forcing him to shiver. Opening the coat, he slipped it over his form, pushing his hands through the sleeve holes, he wrapped it snuggly over his form and pulled the hood up to where it covered his eyes.

The Hunter looked on as a flake of white passed his vision. Glancing into the black sky, his lips turned into a wicked smile.

"I really do hate the holidays..."


((OOC: I decided to take a less Christmas holiday feel and more of a preparation of such. Plus I work in retail and I hate Black Friday.))