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Flash fiction from a picture prompt of a half-decorated Christmas tree @faberacademy 11/12/15
If I could kill Santa, I would. What has he ever done for me except screw up my life? I had all the usual dreams, hopes for a career, wife, family, nice home... But what have I got? Zilch. That’s what. It sounded appealing when he first got in touch. He was hazy on the details, murmured something about making people happy. The job sounded OK, the hours were great. Nothing to do for the first three months of the year. Then a little light toy-making in Spring, bauble development in Summer and an intense period of sweet and candy production in early Autumn. Admittedly, it got crazy for around a month from late November to the Big Day, but doable. I signed up, hell, yes. That’s when I discovered the downside. You see, the thing about Santa is - he wants all the credit. Everybody knows that what he does is impossible for one guy, right? But he won’t share the spotlight. The contract had a big confidentiality agreement. No talking about the job EVER! Do you know how that plays in real life? I meet a nice girl, she asks what I do, I say: "Nothing". What else can I say? And what does she do? Move on, that’s what. I’d kill Santa if I could. The kicker is, if anyone spills his secret, they disappear. Gone! The last guy was halfway through decorating the tree. So I keep quiet. Santa always has the last laugh.
1 Comment
Flatwoman
12/14/2015 03:38:10 am
Great story – short statements hook you in, lovely twists of humour. What is more, the third paragraph could almost be applied to real life, so perhaps there is a moral here... Very clever. Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI spent most of my life not realising I was a writer. I just thought everybody's minds worked like mine. On some level I had a vague idea that the conversations with people who weren't there might just put me in the crazy category, so I kept quiet. Besides, the people in my head were usually more interesting which was never going to win me friends out there in the reality sphere. Fiction has always seemed to offer more interest than the real world and finally I realised - this is how writers think! Normal people don't have these thoughts. So, I had the imagination and the crazy thoughts. The only thing needed to turn me into a writer was to put pen to paper... Or, in my case, fingers to keypad. Here goes! Archives
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