Holiday
The Rotting Wreaths of Winterveil
It was a truly tacit place, Winterveil —with unpredictable, looping weather and calendars that barely rang true. You would think students had grown accustomed to living such a life, but most of them had no idea, no clue of what world they had been born into.
By K.H. Obergfollabout 5 hours ago in Fiction
The Everlasting Peep
In the town of Sugarditch there once lived a candy tycoon so greedy that he weighed his own happiness only in coins, and his name was Bartholomew Sopp. He owned a factory the size of three churches stitched together, where machines groaned from dawn to dusk producing sweets of every sort, and where sugar dust settled on the roofs like a strange snow that refused to melt. Sopp had inherited the business from his father, who had inherited it from his father before him, and the family recipe book held one treasure above every other, a small yellow marshmallow bird, sold only each spring since the year nineteen fifty-three, when the children of Sugarditch waited all winter merely to bite the head off one on Easter morning.
By Nolan Reedabout 10 hours ago in Fiction
Silent Night, Holy Sh*t
I'm feeling lost. I'll tell you why, if you don't mind listening to an old guy rant. My dear wife of 48 years, Elizabeth, passed away almost a year ago, right after Christmas. She was my life. My all. I was sure we'd make it 50 years together, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.
By Julie Lacksonen2 days ago in Fiction
Pride in November
National Veterans and Military Family Month has been observed in November for 20 years, but Pete Sampson says the time to honor veterans is too often minimized to just one day. At least, that's what he keeps seeing individuals taking "anti-Pride Month stances" on social media do in June each year.
By Kay Husnick2 days ago in Fiction
Holiday Hijinks
My neighbor, Steve, is agoraphobic. I know this because last October, I got a package delivered to my door that was meant for him. It looked like rain, so I went to his place to hand it directly to him. As usual, his house was all shut up, dark and almost creepy, which, I guess fit the season.
By Julie Lacksonen3 days ago in Fiction
Christmas shopping season is out of order
Imagine celebrating the Winter Solstice in July or the Spring Equinox in September. This would seem unimaginable because the name denotes the seasons of the celebration during a specific time of year. Celebrating Christmas, however, has become very much out of order.
By Cheryl E Preston3 days ago in Fiction
Winter Peaches
The crunch of the snow underfoot always reminded her of childhood. Even in this place. The middle of a crowded street. Walking swiftly to nowhere in particular. She saw the determination on the faces of those she passed. Desperate to get somewhere warm. She felt that same desperation but had no hope of finding solace. There was no warmth waiting for her at home. Because there was no home.
By Raine Fielder3 days ago in Fiction
What Holiday?
I watched luxury sedans pull in and hand the valets their key fobs. Joey, the semi-retired ‘wise-guy’ actor, drove up in his two-tone red Mercedes Maybach. He checked his face in the mirror, then climbed out and dropped the fob into Valet Number 1’s hand. Number 1 was tall, blond, skinny, yet muscular, wearing Joe’s French Terry pants which fit like a glove. He waited until Joey had entered the building, then tested the Maybach’s turning radius before sliding it into a parking spot.
By Andrea Corwin 4 days ago in Fiction
A Breeze I Wish To Forget
The pictures upheld itself to Natajra’s standard as the driver cruises through the city. The skies were pretty, it wasn’t too hot or too cold outside, and the garden and palms trees were absolutely beautiful. Natajra pinched herself wondering if she was in heaven. “Ouch!” She whispered to herself as she rubs the tiny pain away.
By Devond Devoe4 days ago in Fiction
