Wednesday, 22 December 2010

No time to blog!!

Hey guys, it's been a while... again.
This years course is really taking it out of me time-wise and creative-wise, and I haven't been able to write for some time, so I thought a good way to get some writing done would be to suggest to my children that we have a xmas eve story time with xmas stories that we've written ourselves. My eldest is working hard on hers, my youngest decided that too much writing was involved and she is doing a picture presentation instead. My story is finished, and even though it only took an hour to write (and is completely unedited), I thought I'd share it with you anyway. Here it is :)

The Christmas List

‘I’m telling you, this isn’t right,’ said Frank, staring through the blue tinted glass of the bauble. ‘Look at the mess out there. These kids are a bunch of slobs!’
          ‘They’re just being kids, Frank.’ Justin grabbed the list from Franks hand and leant back against the silver frame. The list was long. Franks OCD was definitely in overdrive this year. Justin almost felt sorry for the guy; almost. If circumstances were different he’d have dragged Frank, kicking and screaming if necessary, to the nearest shrink, but it was xmas eve and Frank’s mental issues were becoming a serious pain in the ass.
          ‘I can’t take it anymore.’ Frank’s hand reached up to the pointiest part of his ear. Justin grabbed it before it could make contact with skin, or the skin that hadn’t already been scratched away, that was. Frank glared at him. ‘Look for yourself! Look what that spoilt little brat has done now. I know it’s customary for them to eat chocolate at this time of year, but look what he’s done with the wrapper! It’s not as if he has to treck half way around the world to find a bin now is it, yet there it is, on the table!’
          Justin sighed. He looked at the list. It had to be in by midnight otherwise the kids wouldn’t get their visit from Santa, but how in the hell was he suppose to explain this to his superiors. He could imagine the conversation; ‘Oh yes, well we couldn’t put them on the nice list, could we? Not after they watched TV for too long, or forgot to put their shoes away, and the dirty cup left on the counter was pure evil!’ No, Frank had gone too far this year and something had to be done.
          He reached out and laid a hand on frank’s shoulder. ‘What is it?’ said Frank, ‘I’m busy watching to see what the little monster does with his hat. Nooo! Don’t put it there!!’
          ‘Frank, we need to go now.’ Justin increased the pressure in his fingers slightly.
          ‘What do you mean go? We can’t leave this mess!’ Frank tried to prise the fingers away but they dug in deeper.
          ‘Enough’s enough mate. You need to go, NOW.’
          Frank turned, his eyes wide. What was Justin on about? Then the cogs in his brain clicked forward a notch and all at once he understood. He grabbed the fingers in the palm of his hand and bent them as far back as they would go. Justin screamed. ‘Mate? MATE? You’re no mate of mine! Take my job away would you? And on xmas eve of all days. Well, let me tell you something MATE, I’d rather die than let you steal my job.’ He shoved Justin as hard as he could, ignoring the cursing from outside as shards of glass exploded onto the rug. Justin fumbled for the emergency phone, one leg waving around in mid air in an attempt to keep Psycho-Frank away, but it didn’t work. One kick and Frank was on top of him, eyes bulging out of their sockets, sellotape in hand.


          Frank was woken by the sound of tears. He wasn’t sure if he’d emailed the list through in time, but the sobbing was music to his ears. A clattering of footsteps followed as the parents made their way to the livingroom.
          ‘Oh dear, I was sure you’d all been good this year,’ said the mother as she wrapped an arm around the youngest boys shoulder.
          ‘I was,’ he spluttered through snot-covered lips. ‘Why hasn’t Santa brought us anything Mummy? Even Sacha has a present.’
          The dog was chewing happily on a cracker shaped toy. As her teeth bit down, the toy squealed.
          ‘For God’s sake,’ The mother rubbed her forehead. ‘I told your Father not to buy her a squeaky toy.’
          Hidden by pine-needles, just behind one of the candy-canes, Frank smiled. The toy squealed again, this time longer and louder. ‘Go on Sasha, good dog. One more bite should do it.'

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