A Short Collection (3)

With Christmas just a few weeks away and my house very much in the midst of the festivities, I figured now would be a good time to post some of the seasonal fiction that I wrote last week.

Getting into the Christmas spirit with my writing is not something that I’ve ever done much of in the past, so in a way this would an experiment of sorts.  Given the darker tone that a lot of my fiction seems to have, trying to write something more upbeat was…not a challenge per say, but I definitely had to try and keep the atmosphere positive.  The shorts that I wrote all end happily at least.

Writing these pieces of micro-fiction have definitely helped me to realise that I prefer working with short stories as opposed to long ones.  When it comes to fiction at least.  I still haven’t gone back to longer prose since finishing at university, and I doubt that I will do for any of the Christmas stories that I plan on writing this month.  I might venture into some slightly longer fiction than the ones I’m posting today, though.  It all depends on how inspired the fairy lights and festive music make me.

For now, I hope you enjoy the Christmas shorts included down below.

The Decoration

Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Blue.  An epileptic blur of colour across an otherwise achromatic room.

The first step of an annual tradition complete, carried out weeks in advance to the main event.  Strobes of light decorate every surface with a new lease of life. In great bunches, strips of metallic plastic sparkle in their glow, throwing out new splashes of colour into the room.  Purple.  Gold.  A blend of silver and white.

The air is alive with a Christmas melody, sung to the tune of a united family.  Mum.  Dad.  Two brothers not at each other’s throats for the first time in days.  Even the dogs run around in excitement, weaving their way around bags and boxes to get involved in the action.

At seven feet tall the masterpiece stands.  Adorned with the shiniest of garments, it overlooks the room with a reassuring presence; a sign of simpler times.  There will be many a fight this Christmas, but not around the tree.  Not this year.


Two hands nestled together in a tight embrace, fingers entwined, palms pressed flat.  A giddy couple of twenty-somethings high on the start of their new unity.

Around the room no smiles can match their own.  People talk and laugh in accordance with the unspoken rules of conversation, but under the glow of the fairy lights their faces don’t shine quite so bright as those of the newly-weds.

‘A toast,’ he says, looking deep into her eyes, ‘to us’.

A smile.  Two Champagne flutes clink quietly under the bass of the sound system.

‘To us’.

Beneath a sprig of mistletoe they stand, more out of intention of than coincidence.  Amidst the rush of the party they remain frozen in the kitchen doorway, lips locked together in the slowest of kisses.  To everyone else they are just a cog in the functioning machine of the Christmas party.  To each other they are the only thing in the world.

‘To us’.


Frost on the window, clustered on the corners of the glass.  Heavy breaths misty in the 6am breeze.  The Winter season kicks off in style.

Morning sunshine becomes a rarity in approach of the solstice.  Journeys are made in the absence of light on a daily basis, the days shorter but the workload never-ending.  The most wonderful time of the year does not wait for deadlines.

Cars rush home in traffic through flurries of snow to find the warmth of their garishly furnished living rooms.  Bright lights signify a festive season unfamiliar in the nine-to-five stress, providing a sanctuary if just for a matter of hours.  The big day cannot come quick enough.

Midnight.  December 25th.  A sleepless night ahead from the anticipation of the young.  Some people just can’t catch a break.

There is no anger though, only a smile.  Today is Christmas, and that makes it worthwhile.

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