I hated Christmas. “The elf did it,” Rudolph said before he spat a glob of tobacco juice into one of Mall of America’s promenade trashcans. Dark brown liquid splattered his faux fur. The combined scent of Red Man and dark… Continue Reading
December, 1963 The Etch A Sketch nearly passed through Martin’s hands without a second glance, but his neighbor jabbed him with an elbow. Martin froze at the image of the starburst drawn in grey plastic. “It’s Aaron,” his neighbor, Sanjeet,… Continue Reading
Christmas Eve. I’m in my car, trying to sleep, when the sound of Karen Carpenter singing makes me sit up. I unzip my sleeping bag, wipe condensation from the windscreen and there she is, standing under a streetlight, not thirty… Continue Reading
Tree sap popped inside the fireplace. Head slumped in a sagging recliner as old and rumpled as himself, Nathan Fletcher’s mind fixed on another Christmas. “Evening in Paris,” he muttered. “What, Grandpa?” Bailey’s thumbs skipped atop a pink Game Boy.… Continue Reading
The little Angel sat on a sturdy branch half way up the biggest tree in the little wood — despondent. The persistent rain drizzled down the back of her best white gown. She hated rain — it made her wings… Continue Reading