Courtney Zucker's life events and circumstances are a terrific example of how our chances in life significantly impact the persons we become. It all started in Mr. Jenkins' Geometry class during her sophomore year of high school. Mr. Jenkins chose to seat his students alphabetically, beginning with the first row and finishing with the last. Only two students remained as Mr. Jenkins called the final row of the classroom. Jonathan Walters and her. Mr. Jenkins announced, "The next seat is Jonathan Walters," as Jonathan took his seat. She'd get to sit next to Jonathan Walters, who she'd had a crush on since middle school. He was now the star of the soccer team and one of the most desirable boys in school. Courtney began to make her way to the seat, assuming she would be the next one called. "Ashley Yance?" Mr. Jenkins said. Courtney remained still. "How about we leave a seat for Ashley and give you a seat in the next row, all the way to the right?" Mr. Jenkins said. Courtney would have been seated on the opposite side of the classroom from Jonathan in the new seat. Mr. Jenkins double-checked his roster. "Oh, Ms. Yance looks to have relocated to Anchorage. Let's make that change, shall we?" Mr. Jenkins said as he crossed Ashley's name off the list. "Courtney Zucker, Courtney, why don't you sit next to Jonathan?" Mr. Jenkins said, unintentionally impacting Courtney's life. Jonathan leaned in and whispered to Courtney as she sat next to him. "I'm terrible at math; this is going to be a difficult year," Jonathan admitted. "My aunt teaches this class; if you need help, I'm pretty good at it. Let me know if you want to study together," Courtney said. "That would be great, thank you!" Jonathan said. And there it was, a pivotal moment in Courtney's life, and she had no idea. Ashley Yance, you see, is a lovely girl who excels in math as well, and has a personality that would have immediately had Jonathan pining for her. Instead, Jonathan and Courtney began a relationship and dated throughout high school and college. In her senior year, Courtney had discovered that she had a knack for building robots and engineering solutions to complex problems. Over spring break, there was a well-known engineering conference that would look great on her college application. She did not, however, have the money to attend the conference. Jonathan's Uncle happened to be the owner of Lacroix, a very posh and exclusive restaurant downtown. Jonathan's Uncle offered her a job at the upscale restaurant. She was able to attend the engineering conference because she had a job. There, she attended a speech by billionaire entrepreneur Vladimir Savage, the owner, and CEO of OrangeSoft, a well-known software engineering firm. She'd never heard of him before, but his speech touched something deep inside Courtney. She knew she wanted to work at OrangeSoft from then on; it became her life's ambition. Courtney discovered an internship at OrangeSoft during her final year of college and assumed it was fate; she applied for the internship and was able to gain an interview using her qualifications. Vladimir Savage conducted the interview, himself, stating that he takes satisfaction in meeting everyone who might work at OrangeSoft. Unfortunately for Courtney, the interview was a flop. It was her first major interview, and her lack of experience shone through. "I have to admit, Courtney, I really like your portfolio, but we're looking for someone a little older. I'm sorry, I think we're going to go in another direction," Vladimir said as he started to get ready for the next applicant. Courtney was taken aback and tried to leave the room with anxiety. As she stands from her seat, she inadvertently drops her purse over Vladimir's desk, causing her contents to spill and become scattered around. Her punch-in computer card from Lacroix Restaurant landed right in front of Vladimir. Vladimir's gaze was drawn immediately to the card. "Lacroix restaurant? That's my wife's favorite place; she particularly enjoys the profiteroles," Vladimir said. "Yeah, I work there on weekends. I'm in college, and I'm working my way through it," Courtney explained. Vladimir pauses for a moment before sifting over the other applicants' applications. "You know what, I've got a good feeling about you; I think we'll offer you the internship after all," Vladimir said. "Thank you; you will not be sorry; I will work for you day and night," Courtney said. Courtney worked harder than she had ever worked in her life for nearly a month. Recognizing Courtney's dedication, Jonathan tried to keep out of her way, but he surprised her one evening when he asked her to marry him, and she said yes. The next day at OrangeSoft, Courtney told her supervisor, Sam Richards, about her engagement. His reaction was not what she had anticipated. He began to experience an existential crisis as a result of all the hours he was working and everything he had sacrificed for OrangeSoft. Including losing the love of his life. Because Courtney was younger than him, the engagement had touched a nerve with Sam. The next day, Courtney learned that Sam had resigned from his position as her supervisor and had proposed that she take over in his replacement. Her ambition of getting a paid position at OrangeSoft was coming true. Courtney worked hard and gradually rose through the ranks; unfortunately, promotions brought with them increased pressure and responsibility. A year later, Courtney was struggling to come up with a new software concept. She hadn't been feeling well, which exacerbated the situation. The clock was ticking, and she had to propose the concept the next day. "Do you think you're pregnant?" Jonathan asked. "Oh my god, do you think?" Courtney said. "There's only one way to find out?" Jonathan said. That night, Courtney took a pregnancy test, which came out positive. While Jonathan and Courtney were overjoyed with the news, it also stimulated Courtney's creativity, leading to the creation of software that functions as a companion during pregnancy. She presented the concept the next day, and the board of directors, including Vladimir Savage, loved it. Courtney was promoted to Head of Engineering after the software was a huge success. She was now collaborating on projects with Vladimir Savage, himself. Courtney's abilities as a project manager, software engineer, and strategic marketer impressed Vladimir. Vladimir began to coach her as a potential vice president. Courtney realized one day that she had left an important schematic at home. She asked Jonathan if he could bring it in for her. Jonathan, being the devoted husband, delivered the schematic within an hour. Courtney was in an important meeting when he arrived, so he had to wait in the waiting room. That's where he met Vladimir Savage. Jonathan and Vladimir hit it off right away since they were both lovers of European soccer. Courtney and her husband, Vladimir, as well as his wife, became fast friends. They vacationed together, ate dinner together, and visited each other's homes on a regular basis. Vladimir was diagnosed with cancer about eight years later. Courtney and Jonathan were there for him during his chemo treatments and surgeries. Vladimir, however, did not make it. Unbeknownst to Courtney, Vladimir had left her the OrangeSoft company in a hidden will. Courtney was now the owner and CEO of one of the world's largest software companies. Courtney became a billionaire and one of the world's most influential celebrities as a result of her hard work and engineering ability. Courtney was asked back to her high school several years later to speak to the students about engineering and opportunities in STEM industries. Mr. Jenkins' last day before retirement happened to be the day she went. After her speech, Courtney went to her car in the parking lot, where she noticed Mr. Jenkins sitting in his car, staring ahead. Mr. Jenkins opened the window after Courtney knocked. "I simply wanted to wish you well, Mr. Jenkins," Courtney said. "Ha, you caught me in an introspective moment, just thinking about all the students I've had over the years," Mr. Jenkins laughed. "Now that I think about it, your class is where I met my husband; I owe a lot to your seating arrangement," Courtney said. "You know I remember that. I had never sat the students alphabetically before and would never do so again in my career, except for that one time," Mr. Jenkins said. "I guess it was just dumb luck," Courtney said. "Sure, luck plays a role in life, but the probability of events occurring is nearly impossible to calculate. But it's not about these chance events happening; it's about what you do with them when they do," Mr. Jenkins said.


Jackson is driving through an affluent area of the suburbs. Someone had told them that his ex-girlfriend had moved in with an older man and had given him the address. He located the street and is now crawling along at less than five miles per hour while talking on the phone with his friend Connor. "I think I see it; it's the brick one on the right," Jackson says. "If she catches you stalking like this, she'll get a goddamn restraining order," Connor warns. As the car approaches the enormous brick house, which is valued at about a million dollars, Jackson slows down even further to see if he can peer through the window. "Bro, this place is huge; I can see someone watching TV through the first-floor window," Jackson says. "You've got to get out of there; they'll notice someone driving by their house peeking in their windows," Connor says. "Relax, her car isn't even there; she's probably still doing yoga on Thursday nights," Jackson says. "Still, you don't think that guy is going to notice you, take your plate or something, you're in a rich neighborhood, they got community watch and stuff," Connor says. "I want to see what this guy looks like; I'm thinking about knocking on his door and pretending to be from the gas company or something," Jackson says. "Last time I checked, gas company employees don't wear Panera polos," Connor says. "I'm not that stupid; I'll throw my hoodie over it," Jackson says. "Look, I don't want to put a damper on your Oceans 11 plan here, but people from the gas company don't generally show up in a Honda Civic, with no credentials and wearing a hoodie," Connor says. Jackson begins to make his way into the intersection, past the brick house. Jackson stretches his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who stole his ex-girlfriend. Suddenly, there's a crash! Jackson had run a stop sign and collided with another car. "Damn, I got into a car accident right in front of my ex-girlfriend's new house," Jackson says. "You've got to get out of there before she comes home, bro. She'll have you arrested if she sees you stalking on top of what occurred at the bar over the weekend," Connor says. "I know, I know, I was only driving a couple of miles per hour; how bad could it be? Let me handle this, and I'll call you back," Jackson says as he ends the call. Jackson notices Philomena, who is in her mid-to-late-sixties, inspecting her front grill. Philomena sobs, "Oh, my Lancer, my Lancer, my Mitsubishi Lancer." Jackson takes a deep breath as he prepares to get out; however, Philomena notices him and quickly walks to his car. "Hey, Lightning McQueen," Filomena says, "you went straight past the stop sign and hit my Lancer; the front end is completely smashed." Jackson exits his car and walks up to the front of her Mitsubishi Lancer. Jackson points to the grill and says, "First of all, I was only driving like three miles per hour, and second of all, there is no damage on the front of your car." "You see spider cracks, spider cracks, it may look like nothing now, but trust me, three months from now, and I'll have a grill that looks like a mosaic painting," Philomena says. "This is absurd; your car has no damage, lady. So, are we going to exchange information or what?" Jackson says, attempting to expedite the process. "I don't like the tone of your voice; you're the one who hit me. And you know what, I might have grazed my forearm on the steering wheel. I believe you fractured my ulna, ouch, paramedic, 911, please alert my loved ones that my ulna bone has been shattered!" Philomena yells, drawing the neighbors' attention. Jackson is becoming frustrated and keeps returning his gaze to the brick house. Because of the accident and Philomena's cries, neighbors have begun to congregate. "Why are you creeping down the road in this neighborhood? This is a cul-de-sac neighborhood, one way in, one way out," Philomena says. "I know someone who lives here; I was looking for their address," Jackson says. "A likely scenario is that you are checking out the place with the intention of returning later with your friends to do a GTA V. I know you're a type, I'm calling the police," Philomena says. Philomena pulls out her flip phone. "Hello there, police. My name is Philomena Jordan, and I'm calling from Bayview Estates, a wealthy cul-de-sac off Route 7. I have a young criminal here who is attempting to perform a GTA V," Philomena says. "You're going to get it now... what, oh okay, I'll hold. The police put me on hold, but when they come back, then you're in for it," Philomena says. A man emerges from the brick house. Jackson is completely engrossed because the man is much older than he expected. "Why do you keep staring towards the Smith house? Is that the house you want to vandalize?" Filomena asks. "Did you say the Smith house? Do they have a daughter?" Jackson asks. "Yeah, Cassandra, or Sandra, or Darlene, I can't remember. But I'm not going to sit back and let you rob that poor family," Filomena says. "No, I used to date Andrea, their daughter. We had a falling out, and all I wanted to do was catch a glimpse of her; I guess I miss her," Jackson says. "Do you mean you're here for love?" Philomena says. "I know I'm not supposed to be doing this; I actually saw her at a bar over the weekend. I didn't know she was going to be there with her friends, and when I went to go talk to her, they left," Jackson says. "That's a harmless mistake; what's the big deal?" Philomena asks. "I couldn't stop myself; I followed them out to the parking lot and chased her to her friend's car; they raced away afraid," Jackson says. Jackson's phone then beeps, indicating that he has received a text message. It comes from Connor. "Bro, I just noticed Andrea coming up Route 7; she's only about 5 minutes away; you need to get out of there!" "Andrea is almost home; if she sees me, it'll be over for good. She'll almost certainly file a restraining order against me," Jackson says. Philomena looks at her car before returning her attention to Jackson, who appears terrified. Philomena closes the phone. "You seem like a nice guy, but you need to give Andrea some space. You know what they say: if you love something, let it go; if it returns, it's yours; if it doesn't, it wasn't meant to be. Why don't you leave before she gets home?" Philomena says. "What about your spider cracks and ulna bone?" Jackson asks. "The police have never taken me seriously since I reported those seagulls for pooping in public. Anyway, it's not that bad; between you and me, my Michael Bublé CD went between the seats, and I may have been trying to get it out before the crash. But if they ask, I'll never admit that to the police!" Philomena says. Jackson smiles. "Thank you," Jackson says as he returns to his car. "Good luck," Philomena says. Jackson drives away from the brick house, waving. Philomena returns to her Mitsubishi Lancer as Andrea pulls into the driveway. Andrea glances around at all the bystanders and asks her father. "What's going on?" "Filomena hit something else with her car," he says. "Those Michael Bublé albums are more dangerous than they'll admit.


###Attention: **The Nomination and Voting schedule has changed! The Nomination Phase has been extended until Monday, January 10th, at 11:59pm EST. See the Schedule section of this post for a link to the countdown and the dates for Voting. Be sure to get those nominations in by the new deadline!** #Hello r/ShortStories! : warm mugs of cocoa, holiday movies, and…Reddit’s Annual Best Of Awards! This year, we will also be participating in the lovely tradition. It’s been a long year, but we’ve had some amazing content to help us get through it. So let’s take some time to look back on some of the great stories that were posted to the subreddit. Winners will receive our new Community “Best Of” award, which will give the recipient **one month of Reddit Premium**! And of course, . *** #How Does This Work? There are several categories in which you can nominate your favorite stories from 2021, most of which will correspond with our subreddit tags. In the comments below, you will find a comment for each category, made by me. When you are ready to make nominations, reply to the corresponding comment with a link to your nomination. You can view on r/WritingPrompts, for an idea of what it should look like. Each user may nominate up to **three** stories for each category. When the nomination phase is finished, voting will begin on a separate thread, with all the nominations. **Note: This is not the voting thread!** Be sure to read the entire post for categories, rules, and deadlines. Should any changes be made to the schedule, they will be edited into the post, so stay updated! *** #The Following Categories Are Up for Nomination ###Weekly Feature Categories: - **Serial Sunday Submission** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **Micro Monday Submission** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / ###Tagged Story Submission Categories: - **[SF] Science Fiction Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[FN] Fantasy Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[HR] Horror Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[MS] Mystery & Suspense Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[RF] Realistic Fiction Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[HF] Historical Fiction Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[AA] Action & Adventure Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[HM] Humour Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[RO] Romance Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[SP] Speculative Fiction Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[TH] Thriller Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[UR] Urban Stories** - &restrict_sr=1&sr_nsfw=) / - **[MF] Misc Fiction Stories** - / *** #Schedule - **Announcement Post:** December 20th - **Nomination Phase:** December 20th - January 10th at - **Voting Phase:** January 17th until January 27th 11:59pm EST - After the Voting Phase ends, results will be recorded and awards will be handed out. Winners will be announced in a post. *** #Nomination & Voting Rules - Nominations must be made in the correct category, as a reply to that comment. Misplaced nominations will not be recorded. - No more than 3 nominations per user, per category. Users may not nominate themselves. - Ties in the voting process will be broken by an anonymous member of the mod team. - Nominated stories cannot be posted by banned or deleted accounts. - Nominated stories must be posted originally after January 1st, 2021 at 12:00am EST - Attempts to game the system for or against any nomination will result in appropriate punishment for those involved. - No off-topic conversation in the nomination areas. Use the off-topic stickied comment if you have questions or comments. Good luck, and have fun! If you do have any questions, feel free to ask in the provided Off Topic Comment or send us a modmail! *** ###Subreddit News - Don’t forget to stop by and on r/WritingPrompts! - Try your hand at serial writing with or test your micro fiction skills with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Use one holiday-themed song as inspiration for your story.** **Additional Bonus Constraints:** *(These are just for fun and extra inspiration. All writers will receive the bonus points this week.)* Use at least one of the following constraints in your story: - a snowman - a ruined holiday dinner - a character unwrapping a present - an unexpected guest appears - sleigh bells are heard We’ve approached the holidays! For most it’s a warm, cozy time spent with family and friends, and a time full of memories. In celebration of these coming holidays, I am giving you a . I would like you to **use one holiday-themed song to write your story** this week. The provided songs are just ideas; if you have another that inspires you, use it! Just be sure to list the song title and artist at the end of your story. Remember, when using a song as inspiration, you may use any part of it, whether it’s the lyrics, a single word or image, or a theme. The interpretation is entirely up to you as long as you follow all subreddit and post rules.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week I appreciate your patience last week. For anyone who missed last week’s rankings, you can view them . Now, onto this past week… - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/nazna   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/Ilicarian   *** ###Subreddit News - Nominate your favorite content from this sub on our ! - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


I was born with an anchor in my chest. It was something that I didn’t really notice right away. It was just something that was a small annoyance always pulling me down. I thought it was something everyone had. As I grew older it became heavier. It became harder to carry. One week I was so tired, I couldn’t get out of bed. My mother took me to the doctor. “Yes, the problem is that you have an anchor,” he said and gave me some pills to help me carry it. The pills helped. Sometimes I even forgot that the anchor was there, but it also felt like I was forgetting a piece of me. I kept taking the pills, though. You see, carrying an anchor all the time was exhausting. Then I met a boy. I liked him. He was me and more. I found out early on that he had an anchor as well, but life had given him his. He took me out to sea. He was so strong. His anchor was much larger than mine. He didn’t need the pills to carry his. I felt guilt. Why was I taking pills when he carried his anchor so much easier without? He said I couldn’t fully be me unless I carried my anchor like a badge of honor. I threw my pills into the water. I felt the most like myself in years. It was exhilarating. He embraced it. Then I realized my anchor had grown over time. It was much heavier than I remembered. I struggled with it. Then he did with his. I tried to carry both our anchors, but it was impossible. It drug us down. Down. Down. Down. I had to let go. His anchor was too heavy. He slowly sank, then disappeared. What’s funny is that he was gone, but part of his anchor stayed with me. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get rid of it. Part of me didn’t want to. I deserved it. I became exhausted and started to sink. It became easier not to fight. Then I saw a boat. A net fell over the side and wrapped around me. I felt myself rising. Soon I was on the boat and there sat my mother, friends, and doctor. They began chipping away at my anchor. They gave me pills. I was so exhausted that I let them. Slowly my anchor became lighter. I felt relief. I was able to think of things other than all the weight I had been carrying. I realized I was more than just my anchor. I was grateful. My anchor is still there there. Some days it’s heavier than others, but I know that there are others who are willing to help me carry it. I have my own boat now and cast my net out, hoping to find others who are being weighed down. I chip away at their anchors and bring them to shore. I am who I am, because I was born with an anchor in my chest.


This was written for the wonderful u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange. My constraints were from /u/stickfist: Gnomes, a lost package, and a midnight deadline. The mailman shrugged as he stepped off the Wilkinson’s porch leaving six-year-old Charlotte pouting. “I’m sure the package will turn up,” Sarah Wilkinson said to her daughter. “And if it doesn’t, Gramma will send you another.” From the well-tended lawn, the trio of gnomes stood in silent vigil of the girl’s disappointment. Tears welled in her eyes, her pout became a frown, and a sigh drooped her shoulders lower than ever before. “Come in, Charlotte,” Sarah sighed. “We’ll call the post office in the morning.” All was still on the lawn until dusk arrived. It started with the wrinkle of a ruby-red nose, then a wiggle of their porcelain toes. With a sneeze, all three gnome brothers woke from their daytime slumber. “Lok, Log, hurry! We haven’t much time,” Ori announced as he straightened his tall red hat. “For snacks?” Log queried, his hollow gut rumbling beneath his belted potbelly. “For fun?” said Lok, Log’s twin in all ways but the length of his moustache, long ago chipped in a strangely fashionable way. “For mischief!” Ori reminded them. As they did every night, all three trotted about the Wilkinson’s property with mayhem on their minds. Ori took the lead for his hat was the tallest. “I have grand plans this night!” he promised, as they crawled in through the dog door. That the Wilkinson’s had no pet was forever a boon. “What’s first?” Log asked, picking at his teeth. “And next?” Lok wondered aloud as he tripped over nothing at all. “The blankets, my brothers. We start with the blankets.” And off to the living room Ori led them. “First, we collect each one misplaced and left unfolded. Then, we put them in the grand blanket chest.” “Where they should be?” Log frowned. “That sounds odd.” Lok scratched his nose. “It’s perfect! Mother Sarah always insists Father Glenn put them away but he doesn’t, so she’ll never find them there!” “It’s brilliant!” Log mused. “True genius!” Lok squealed. Both twins clapped and they set off to task. In minutes they’d collected and folded each blanket and tucked them into the chest by the fire. “Hurry brothers, find all the shoes and bring them to the front door,” Ori said and they scampered off in all directions. In minutes they’d found every shoe, sandal, slipper, and boot - both lost and not- and gathered them. “Now, put the lefts on the right and the rights on the left,” Ori said whilst wringing his hands. “Father Glenn will wake and come down to put on his shoes for work and what shall he find? Left on the right? How will he dress! He’ll be late and lose his job for sure!” “How devilish!” “What madness!” And off the brothers went to work. Once they’d finished with the very last slipper, tucked in neatly and arranged from smallest to largest, Ori motioned for his brothers to huddle. “I’ve saved the best for last, a true mischievous deed that struck me this afternoon at a quarter past three.” “Go on!” Log insisted. “Do tell!” Lok echoed. “The package. The one Daughter Charlotte is missing.” Ori grinned. “I know where it is.” The twins gasped in unison. “I propose a mountain of mischief, a truly daring task. We take the package that tumbled into the garden and…” Ori paused for effect. “Place it on Charlotte’s bed!” Log and Lok looked confused and exchanged quizzical frowns. “Isn’t that helpful?” Log asked. “We’re not helpful, are we?” Lok sounded most distressed. “Pish pish, not at all! She’ll be utterly confused. Can you imagine it? The thing that wasn’t there the night before is there the morning after? Discombobulating! Madness indeed!” “Huzzah!” The twins shouted together, but Ori quickly hushed them and they tackled their final task. They rolled the package from the garden and with each turn Log nibbled on the corners. Twice Lok tripped; over shoes, over carpet, or nothing but himself. Through the hardest work they’d ever done yet, the three brothers dragged the package up to Daughter Charlotte’s room. Then on to her bed they climbed and pulled and climbed some more. All three brothers huffed and leaned against the package just feet from the sleeping six-year-old girl. “Just imagine the squeal in the morning, brothers,” Ori said between breaths. “We’ll hear it all the way on the lawn!” “Of delight?” Log wondered. “Or relief?” Lok worried. “Of confusion!” Ori assured them triumphantly. But with a look out the window at the high moon, Ori gasped a quick breath. Clocks chimed about the house. Midnight was arriving. “Hurry, brothers!” Ori declared, straightening out his tall red hat. “To the lawn before midnight falls!” With a yelp, the gnome brothers scampered from the pastel sheets, a full night’s work of mischief done.


Detective Merry Giftsleigh puffed on his mistletoe pipe and watched the hidden compound at the base of the jungle volcano. Artificial Christmas trees littered the ground inside the fence, plastic melting under the Hawaiian sun. Mixed among them were tangles of Christmas lights higher than an elf’s head, next to heaps of discarded lawn reindeer and uninflated snowmen. It had been an hour and he hadn’t seen a single guardsman or guardself on patrol. Slapping away a mosquito, Merry decided that was long enough. He extinguished his pipe and crept up to the chain link fence. Some quick work with wire cutters and he was into the compound. Merry finally got a good look into the two largest buildings in the compound. Warehouses, doors open to reveal further Christmas paraphernalia. Bins of loose tinsel. Barrels of eggnog. Ugly sweaters draped over every surface. And most of all, thousands of unopened presents, nearly pouring out of the warehouses. This went far beyond the candy cane fraud that had put Merry on the case. “Well, I’m cocking my gun,” he said, drawing his mint shooter. He crept down the alley between the warehouses, heading for the helpfully-labelled “Administration”. Up on the rooftop, a faint *click, click, click* was his only warning. “Rudolph’s antlers!” Merry cursed. Why did he always forget to look up? Merry dashed for the end of the alley, a staccato chatter chasing him. He ducked around a corner just before the shots caught up with him. A glance at the ground confirmed his worst fears. The madman was firing black licorice. Santa only knew where they’d found it after the Gifteva Convention’s ban. There was a brief pause as the guard reloaded his astringent ammo. Merry ran for the administration building. He slammed the door shut just in time; the next volley rattled off it. He toppled a filing cabinet in front of the door to gain more time. The office was filled with Christmas cards, piled on every available surface. But Merry Giftsleigh’s attention was drawn to the dartboard behind the room’s only desk. A calendar was pinned to it, turned to the current month. December 25 was lined up over the bullseye. Merry jerked in shock as a dart struck Christmas. It came from the office chair behind the desk. Leveling his mint shooter, he barked, “Hands where I can see them! Turn around slowly.” “Oh my, Detective Giftsleigh. I didn’t expect to meet you here.” The chair swiveled around, and Merry froze. That familiar, cute button nose of evil. “Nutmeg Frosting,” he grated. “I never thought even a former elf would go so far. How could you? Christmas supplies ruined-” “Ho, ho, ho,” Nutmeg cackled. “You think that’s *all* I did? Stole some decorations? No, Giftsleigh. Did you not see the cards, and the presents?” Merry raised a Christmas card so he could read and keep an eye on the Arctic’s Most Wanted elf at the same time. “This- this is addressed to Santa. It calls him a… How could you?” “I’m afraid Hawaii isn’t sending cards to Santa this year.” Nutmeg grinned. “Or rather, the ones he’ll get will be *altered*.” “No!” “Yes!” Anti-jolly fervor burned in Nutmeg Frosting’s eyes. “Every child in Hawaii is sending a nasty letter to Santa this year. They’ll all end up on the naughty list. The few that wrote early, well, you saw their gifts on the way in.” Merry’s aim shook. “You won’t get away with this. “I already have. Hawaiian Christmas will be yet more ruined.” Someone began battering at the door. “Give it up, Giftsleigh. You’ve lost.” Merry grit his teeth, desperate for a plan. Then it came to him. Circling the desk, he slapped handcuffs on Nutmeg. The ex-elf was a master criminal, but the restraints would slow his escape long enough. Booting him out of his chair, Merry took the seat and lit up his mistletoe pipe. “What are you doing?” Nutmeg growled. Merry rolled his eyes when he saw Nutmeg already fiddling with a lockpick and put his feet up on the desk. “Having a smoke.” Cracks appeared in the door. “You’re mad.” Merry puffed to get a decent ember going and picked up a Christmas card. He held it over his pipe until the flame caught, then threw it onto the desk. Onto the pile of slanderous cards. “No!” Nutmeg, arms free, lunged for the flames. With a kick, Merry scattered the burning paper across the room. “Pity I can’t bring you in, Nutmeg, but I’ve foiled your schemes again. Most likely see you next December. And, you filthy traitor,” Merry tipped his cap, “Merry Christmas.” The door broke open as Merry hopped out the back window. Nutmeg’s cry, “Happy Holidays! Happy Holidays!” pursued him through the jungle. Carols to his ears.


Dear Santa, This is not how I expected to start my first letter to you as an adult. I had fully anticipated sitting down with my future pre-literate child and dictating out their wishes to some mysterious bearded stranger that actually turned out to be the USPS postmaster, or maybe just that weird town in Indiana. Instead, here I am, not just childless but quite single, effectively praying to a Yuletide deity that I don’t believe in to deliver me out of this Lifetime movie hell. And I mean that in the most literal sense. It genuinely feels like the last month came straight out of one of a dozen movie scripts. There I was, hanging garland and lights and ornaments in my shop when some scary Vanessa Hudgens-looking businesswoman walks in with an ominously large stack of papers and says that her company wants to buy the store and that they know I’m not earning enough to stay in business. Which is… true, but the world doesn’t need to know that. I mean, sure, it’s my fault for trying to open a haberdashery into the teeth of the online shopping boom, and sure, every single lender and businessman I spoke to asked why people wouldn’t just go to Amazon… but did it really have to be Amazon buying out my shop? I don’t know. Maybe I should just try to seduce her. Except she also seems to already be happily married. Maybe this isn’t a Lifetime movie after all. Anyway, here we go. What I want for Christmas is a Lego train. Also a couple hundred thousand dollars so I don’t go out of business. But I’ll settle for the train. Sincerely, James *** Dear Ms. Jónsdóttir First of all, I sincerely apologize for being so offensive with the previous letter. I was having an awful day and halfway through addressing my letter, gave up on remembering the term “North Pole” and instead settled for Ice Land. It was never my intention to contact the office of the Prime Minister of Iceland and beg for money and Legos. With that in mind, I would also like to thank you for your gift of Legos and licorice tea. Amazingly, both were absolutely instrumental in the temporary recovery of my shop. I placed the train set in my front window and multiple parents came in and purchased something simply because their children wanted a closer look at it. I also had three other customers make purchases because I just looked so lonely at the register drinking my tea with a slice of dry pumpernickel (apparently I had a pretty sour look on my face, despite adding more than one sugar cube to the tea). Although I confess that my shop is not yet out of dire straits, I am nevertheless incredibly grateful for your correspondence, both for the unintended benefit and for the kindness of your words. As a demonstration of my gratitude, this letter should have been securely taped to a clumsily wrapped package for you. Please accept my sincerest gift of two fine leather wallets and a banana-themed necktie set that has been selling particularly well. I realize these are not particularly good gifts, but it is my hope that they will be sufficient to entice you to continue our correspondence. Thank you, and happy holidays! James *** Dear Anna, When we first met, I owned a store. I thought that store was my whole life. And when that store started to close, I couldn’t breathe. I thought my dream was done. So I wrote some dumb letter and nearly threw it away ten times before I finally put it in the mail. And miracle of miracles, it somehow arrived at your desk, and you saved me. Now I know we technically only exchanged three or four real letters before switching to email, then texts and phone calls, then all-too-short and wildly expensive visits until I wised up and moved myself and my store out here, but I thought that a return to form might be appropriate for this, our two-year meetaversery. So here I am, painstakingly handwriting these words two days before you read them while you’re asleep about ten feet away. When we first met, that store was my life. Now, you are.


Outside snow fell softly to the ground. It almost floated as it covered the sandy dunes on the other side of the boardwalk. Winter at the shore was rather surreal as the town was practically deserted outside of summer. What kind of lives did these people, left behind to maintain it until it could come alive again, live? *** Kelpy looked down from their summit, the lithe strong frame posing triumphantly, “I told you, fortune favors the bold!” “I swear that arm of yours is cheating. It could prolly grab the bare wall and hold on. You know that wasn’t how the routesetter envisioned it right?” Her belayer yelled back up the wall at her. He slowly let the line out as she repelled back down. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. Just because I beat your dumb challenge in a way that didn’t fit your vision doesn’t take away from it.” “Yeah yeah yeah. I’m just hoping next month’s competitors don’t exploit it the way you do.” “Don’t worry Bads, your routes will be fine. I’m just a bit of an outlier. She knocked on the cybernetic arm. Besides you know The Federation doesn’t allow augs to compete.” “That may be true, but it’s still a blow to the ego.” He sticks out his tongue. “Besides, the aug circuit is rumored to get started in a few years in Khartoum. I’m sure you’ll tear through the challengers, Kel.” She laughs and undoes her harness and takes off the forcefully arched shoes. “Nice of you to say that, but at forty six I’m past my prime. Professional augs will have way more done, and I’m not looking to get more silicon, y’know. Only have this cause of the explosion.” “True. Just wish you could be a bit more known is all Kel, you deserve it. Anyhow, lunch and then open the place up?” “Sounds like a plan.” The two got out of their equipment and headed to the communal break room behind the counter area of Mainsail Park Quintessential Elevation Gym, or MPQEG for short. Bads had opened the gym years ago to train himself since there was nothing in the area and climbing actual rocks had become quite dangerous after they burned the sky. He discovered that contrary to popular belief, managing a place like this takes away from precious wall time even if he lived there. Kel had joined on a few months ago. Apparently no one wanted to hire a reformed convict. As she tells it, she accidentally threw a bit of dynamite out of a car she had stolen and ruined some classic Grecian concrete facade of a historic building. A count of grand theft auto and reckless endangerment later landed her behind bars for thirteen years. It was hard to believe that she had been behind bars for the entire run of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. She often said it was the worst of times, but she got through by being as clever as a jackdaw and as fierce as a wyvern. She had been upfront about the void on her resume and had great people skills too when he trialed her out. Her blithe demeanor made customers forget about the world outside while they were here. It was an easy hire. It took some time for her to get used to living at the gym since affording a private residence was nearly impossible for any but the elites. She’d often ask questions like Is there a chemist shop nearby? or Is the chimney supposed to be blocked? The answers which were no and yes, unless you want your lungs to corrode respectively. She had gotten used to the place quickly and even gotten to know the other people in the area. “What’s in the lunchbox today?” Bads asked, pulling out a ham sandwich. “Apfelstrudel, chocolate truffles, and sugar cookies with ginger frosting.” “You should probably eat something more than desserts, you know.” Mouth full, Kel muttered something unintelligible as sweet crumbs fell to the table. “Try that again as a civilized adult?” “They are too delicious not to. Plus we get plenty of nutrients from the shipments from Halex. Let me enjoy something I missed for a long time.” “Given the chance I am sure you’d enjoy these things until the inevitable heat death of the universe.” “Fuck yeah I would.” *** “Cody. Cody! CODY!” the voice cut through my concentration. I shook my head and put the snowglobe down. “What? Sorry. I got distracted.” “I noticed. You have to submit that story for the Secret Santa. Did you get any ideas?” “I think so. Post apocalyptic sci-fi action story about a small business and a blooming romance should be good?” “In 800 words? I don’t think you can do all of that It'll end-"     This was written for the Secret Santa Event. If you want slightly more coherent stories, maybe go check out r/FoxFictions.


# The Old North Wind Captain Frost was glad to have something warm that night as she raised the rum to her lips. A bitter wind had filled the sails of *Scorched Juniper*, pushing her southward. But the crafty captain had dug in her heels, tacking east and west looking for prey near the Portuguese colony of Brazil. A shout rained from the crow’s nest. “Ship off the port bow!” She pitched the rum and opened her spyglass: two masts, just over the horizon. “Christmas came early, boys!” she yelled. As *Juniper* closed in, her prey suddenly came to life. Had they been spotted? Looking through the spyglass, Frost was dumbfounded by the red, green, and blue lanterns hung from stem to stern. It was no signal code she’d seen before—and the captain knew “Help, pirates!” in fourteen languages. No matter. She spoke the universal language of cannon fire. Flames and thunder boomed from *Juniper’s* broadside for a moment, casting a volley into the night. Silence. Then, on the other ship, timber exploded. Their main mast splintered and fell into the sea. “Prepare for boarding!” she shouted and the crew returned a throaty cheer. Nothing looked right. No crew, no defenses. The bow had been festooned with long strands of holly. Instead of the usual odor of blood and smoke, the air smelled like nutmeg and cloves. And it might have been the excitement or the rum, but to Frost, the racks of cannonballs looked like glass. One teetered out of its broken hold and rolled to her boot. “Snow globes?” Her first mate shook another and stared at the glittery tableau inside with his one good eye. "Perchance they be rare? Made of gold and such?" She looked closer. Inside the sphere was the figure of a girl in a dinghy full of banana bunches. A tiny sign read, *All Hands on Deck*. Worthless wordplay. Behind her, something small and jingly jingled, just beyond the splintered mast and wrecked rigging. “Follow the bells,” she commanded. When they reached the aft deck they discovered the mizzen mast had been decorated like a Christmas tree. Festive baubles and ribbons hung from odd bits of green palm fronds and twigs, lashed high into a conic shape. The only things missing were the presents. That and the crew. “Come on out,” she yelled into the air. “Surrender and we’ll let you live.” A hatch cracked open and tiny hands pushed it aside. One, two, then ten short wiry figures emerged. Frost gritted her teeth. Nothing angered her more than child labor. “Where is your captain?” she asked softly. A little one pointed to the top of the mizzen mast. What had initially looked like a red ornament began to shake. “Yo ho ho!” a voice bellowed. A shadow slid down the rigging and a bearded man bedecked in red rose to face the children. “No sugar cookies for you until New Years!” He could have been Saint Nicholas, if one believed in such nonsense; Captain Frost did not. She held her sword to his side and gave him a sharp stick. “Give me one reason not to gut you right this second.” “I have to deliver these presents to the little boys and girls. Me and my little helpers,” he pleaded. “Haven’t you ever heard of Santa’s workship?” Seeing how she was unmoved, the man gestured for a little sailor to step forward. “Peppermint? Can you lift your hat? Show the nice pirates your ears.” A pixie-like girl with a green-striped cap pulled it off and the raiders gasped. Her ears were pointed. Frost could not understand such cruelty. “You… you docked her ears?” “She was born that way! She’s an elf! This one’s been making dolls for over a century. Isn’t that right? Tell her who I am.” Hat in hand, the little one looked at her little compatriots, back to him, and them again. She hugged Frost’s legs. “He’s been naughty.” Frost stared daggers at Santa. “Get the plank.” Tiny cheers erupted from the elves. “You’ll never get away with this!” he roared as his little shipmates prodded him further down the plank. “People keep telling me that,” Frost said before cutting the rope lashes. “One day I’ll listen.” The children were remarkably adept at repairs and carpentry, fixing the mast almost as if by magic. Perhaps the man really was Santa, if one believed in such things; Frost did not. Of course the privateer took all the loot she could carry. *Fair is fair*, she thought. Before leaving, Peppermint gave her a tiny treasure chest with two words engraved on the lid. Inside, a cupcake. She didn’t understand. “How did you know my name? My *real* name?” Peppermint grinned with a twinkle in her eye. “Merry Christmas, Sweet Frosting.” *** This story was written for the WP Hub's Secret Santa Story Exchange, organized by u/Say_Im_Ugly and u/OldBayJ. They are awesome! The constraints given to me were: - Items: twinkle lights, ornaments, snowglobes, christmas tree, presents. - Location: somewhere tropical.


The sun beat down on the Farne Islands, bringing a welcome heat for grey seals basking on the beach. Others sought to escape it: rabbits retreating into the shade of their warrens, Arctic terns diving in the beautifully cool ocean. Then there were the puffins, the most aristocratic of birds with their suit-like plumage and colourful crown of a beak; parents fished while pufflings sheltered in their burrows. One such puffling poked his head out of one such burrow. Pip stretched his wings as he stared up, watching the adults swoop and soar across the sky. His feathers brushed against the walls so he shuffled out a little further and, when no danger presented itself, a little further still. As the tip of his tail passed the threshold Pip clambered to his feet, revelling in the feeling of the sun on his back and the wind ruffling his feathers. His head swivelled as he hopped around, struggling to process all the new sensations. Just as he was becoming used to the world around him, a cacophony of cawing erupted around him. There was a momentary blip in the sun's warmth as a shadow passed overhead before looping back around, growing steadily larger. Pip made a frantic dash back to his burrow and dived inside just in time to escape the inquisitive beak that poked in after him. But something wasn't right. The tunnel was the wrong shape and was missing the grass lining. Pip considered the conundrum. Could he risk going back outside? He suppressed a shudder as an image of a long, sharp beak flashed through his mind, and started shuffling further in. "What are you doing here?" demanded a rabbit in the corner, harried by the many children that covered her. "Sorry, I think I came in the wrong burrow. "Is there another way out?" Her expression softened as she registered the quiver in his voice. "You can try that way," she said, shifting under the mass of young rabbits to point. "But it's a bit of a warren down here." "I'll show him," one of the young rabbits squeaked. "No Kit, you're not ready to go out alone." "But Muuuumm, I won't be alone. And he needs help." "Fine," she sighed. "But show him to the entrance and come right back. No going outside." Kit leapt up. "Okay Mum," he said, before turning towards Pip. "Come on, it's this way." They made their way through the maze of tunnels until they reached an opening. Pip paused to say thank you, but the words caught in their beak as Kit continued on. "I thought you were meant to stop here," he called after the young rabbit. "Pfft, if I always did what she said I'd never have any fun. Besides, I want to make sure you get home safely." "Well, thanks," Pip said, hopping after him. "I suppose --" A screech cut him off, accompanied by an approaching shadow. He was almost back at the burrow entrance when he noticed Kit wasn't with him - his new friend was cowering in the grass, a large gull circling overhead. Without stopping to think, Pip charged across the ground beating his wings as hard as he could and soon found himself climbing into the air. But there was no time to enjoy his first flight; he had to help Kit. He dived towards the gull, pulling away at the last second. On the next attempt his feet brushed the wings of the monstrous bird but still it ignored him. Despair was starting to creep in when two other puffins joined the fray. One of them flung their beakful of sandeels over the gull while the other flew underneath to block the view of the young rabbit. The rain of food proved enough of a distraction as the gull chased the falling fish, allowing the three puffins to glide down to the ground in relative safety. Pip landed next to Kit and gently nudged him with his beak. "It's safe. You should probably hurry home." Kit's eyes darted around as he nodded at Pip before racing away. Pip allowed himself a small chuckle, it would be a while before Kit ignored his mother again. As he turned his attention to his saviours, joy filled his heart. "Mama! Papa!" "You gave us quite a fright young man!" his father scolded, eyes boring into Pip. His mother hopped towards him, pushing her head gently into his. "Yes, but did you see that stupendous first flight?" "Yes, yes, very good. Even if it did lose us our dinner. Now what do you say we go home? I've had enough excitement for one day." "Me too," Pip agreed, feeling the truth of the words in his chest as they made their way to the *correct* burrow entrance. \*\*\* This story was written for the WP Hub's Secret Santa Story Exchange. The constraints were given to me by and were: \- Includes: A bird features in some way or another \- Words: 'inquisitive', 'harried', 'stupendous', 'aristocratic' or 'conundrum' are included \- Action: Someone gets a tad (or fairly, or extremely) lost.


This was written for the wonderful u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange. I took it upon myself to be be the secret santa for u/Say_Im_Ugly and u/OldBayJ who was helping administration of the event. These constraints came from Bay: Genre: Mystery or Horror / Character: A detective or other character named Bay / Theme: Christmas / First sentence: "It was Christmastime, and that meant murder." / Includes: a plot twist, a candycane, another WP Character, snow / Words: bumfuzzle, bamboozled, crab, kerfuffle It was Christmastime, and that meant murder. I got a cold shudder as I felt the color disappear from the room. The whole place felt desaturated, like it was being shown in black and white, which was never a good sign of what was about to come into my office. The door swung open wildly, carried, no doubt, by the wind on the snowy Chicago streets outside. Before me stood the most beautiful dame I’d ever laid my eyes upon. Her face was sullen, and puffy, red eyes that had recently been crying hid behind a thin widow’s veil. She looked like she had walked right out of a really sad 1920’s Jazz club. Her modest flapper dress, adorned with intricate art-deco inspired embroidery, hung around her like mourning to a mood. Short auburn hair twisted into a tight bun on the left side of her head, poking out just below the rim of her cloche hat. An intricate twist of intertwining silver strands clung closely to her neck. “Well hello, madam.” I said with a smile, straightening my coat as I rose to meet her. “Are you Dickey McVeigh?” She asked curtly. “Indeed I am. Private eye, at your service.” I offered her my hand, but she simply walked around me and took a seat in front of my desk. “My husband has been murdered.” She said. “That sounds like a problem for the police. Why come to me?” I asked, taking a seat again behind my desk. “Because he was murdered by the police.” She said. My eyebrows raised in curiosity. “And what makes you say that?” I asked, jotting down notes as she spoke. “I watched it happen.” She said, pausing, waiting for me to prod further. “Let’s start with some basics. Your name?” “Bay.” “Husband’s name?” “Hannibal.” “Who killed him?” “Geese.” I hesitated. “Geese? I thought you said the police killed him.” I asked. “Yes. The officer’s name is Geese.” “What a strange name.” I mused. “Okay, next. What happened?” “Geese killed my husband.” “O,” I hesitated again, “kay. When did this happen?” “About thirty minutes ago.” “How are you already in funeral attire?” I asked, bumfuzzled. “That answers the next question you were going to ask. Where, right? We were at a funeral.” “And lastly, do you know of any sort of motive Geese may have had to kill your husband?” I asked. “Hannibal was just defending my honor. We overheard Geese saying that crab was inferior to lobster, and my husband, knowing I own a crab fishing business on the East coast, stepped in to correct him. A kerfuffle ensued.” “And this,” I recollected, “kerfuffle evolved, I’m assuming?” “Yes. A real donnybrook broke out.” Bay said. “A donnybrook,” I said, jotting the word down, “and Geese punched your husband? Shot him? Told him a secret so shocking his heart stopped?” “He was stabbed.” She said. “Who was stabbed?” I asked. “My husband, try to keep up.” “Apologies. Husband stabbed. Did you see the murder weapon? Do you know where it is?” I asked. She hesitated, her eyes darting around my tiny office in its constant state of disarray. “What is it, Bay? What was your husband stabbed with?” I asked. “A candy cane.” She said after a few moments of silence. “A candy cane?” I asked. “A candy cane.” She confirmed. “Where is the candy cane now?” “In my purse.” She said. I paused. “The murder weapon is in your purse?” I asked. “Yes. I wanted you to see it. You wouldn’t have believed me otherwise.” She said. She was right. I would not have believed that her husband was murdered by Geese using a candy cane to stab him. “I absolutely would not have, you were right to bring it here.” “Say, Dicky, do you like crabs?” She asked. “Not particularly. In fact I’m a bit fearful of them.” I said. “You’re right to be afraid of them.” Bay said. She stabbed me with the candy cane. As I lay dying on the rug in the middle of my office, I looked to Bay and asked, “Why?” She simply laughed, and then her form, dress, hat, skin, everything slowly scuttled apart into hundreds of crustaceans. I had been bamboozled by 600 crabs dressed as a widow, and all I could say was: “Not again.


The channel was a mess. Scattered snippets of conversation lay in heaps of gibberish, mixed with shattered emotes and glitching gifs. The place reeked of smoke and ozone. *Another Chat Kill*, had been the word from Nobody’s informant among the Chan Ops - the squirrely fellow had neglected to mention it was damn near a Chat Massacre. The place looked like someone had set off a bomb in the middle of a sentence. After a cursory examination for anything obvious the Moderators might have missed, Nobody retreated to a secluded corner, out of sight from the street. He crouched low and eased his trench-coat open, carefully withdrawing the tool he’d *borrowed* from the Word God’s vault. He brushed a few pinions over the object’s smooth, light pinkish glass surface, the touch answered with a soft flicker of light deep within. He shook the glass orb gently. “Come on, wake up. We’ve got work to do.” The dim light grew brighter, revealing the curled form of a tiny, transparent dragon. It wore a sleeping mask that said *‘Do Not Disturb’*, and showed no sign of wakefulness. Nobody raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know you’re awake, Ghost. Come out, I need you to have a sniff around the scene. Check for tracks, tropes, and talking-points. Anything that could point us in the right direction.” Ghost huffed and ripped off his sleeping mask. “Ugh, *fine*. Come on then, pour me out so we can get this over with.” Nobody nodded, and tipped the orb on its side. The little dragon slithered out as though flowing through an unstoppered bottle, phasing straight through the polished glass and landing on the floor with a small puff of dust. In a city of Words, the *intent* behind your verbs meant more than the verbs themselves. Ghost trotted in a circle, his glowing, transparent body brightening and lighting the devastated room. He grimaced, nose twitching, and began to carefully pick his way through the debris. “Oh, wow, this place *reeks*. This isn’t your average Chat Kill, this is a Conversation Slaughter.” “So I’d guessed,” Nobody answered. “What do you think? Out of control Campfire? Insane Iron Chef? Loose Serial Worm?” “Oh no, boss, this was done by hand. Knives or swords, would be my guess.” “What? How do you figure, with all the scorch marks and soot?” “Simple,” Ghost answered, holding up an irregularly triangular piece of debris. “These edges, while burnt, are far too smooth and straight to be anything but cuts.” He ran a claw over one straight edge for emphasis. “Sliced so fast the friction cauterised the cuts. That’s why we’re not standing waist-deep in ink, too.” Nobody’s eyes widened, and he felt his feathers stand on end as a chill ran down his long neck and along his spine. Ghost blinked at him. “What?” “I only know one writer who can chop like that - and I put that monster Six Feet Down Unda’ ten years ago.” “Well, they must’ve been the Antagonist to your Protagonist then, boss. Judging by this mess… They didn’t stay Down Unda’.” He paused. “Now what?” Nobody knelt down and held out the orb to let Ghost slither back inside. “His story ended a decade ago. This time, I’ll make it stick - and write him out.” He put Ghost’s orb back inside his coat pocket, turned to leave- And nearly lost his head as a massive claw swept at his face, taking a chunk out of his beak. He honked with pain and alarm and staggered backwards, narrowly dodging another strike that tore his coat open and sent Ghost’s orb tumbling over the floor, the little dragon shrieking with shock. “Leaving so soon, Detective Goose? After all the trouble I had, making my case?” “Not Much,” Nobody hissed, through his blooded beak. “Back to your chopping ways, I see.” The crazed cassowary leered at him. “Only briefly, Detective - long enough to chop *you!*” Nobody was driven back by the lethal barrage of chopping claws, feathers flying with every nick and scrape. “Boss!” Ghost cried, “Say something! Something good!” Another claw nearly clipped a wing. “Like what!?” Nobody gasped. “Like what dragons do, dammit!” A ducked kick punched clean through a wall. “Burn!?” Nobody heard a deep breath and saw the orb glow white-hot out of the corner of his eye. He leapt back with a honk of alarm and hit the deck as a torrent of flame passed overhead, the heat curling his feathers and engulfing Not Much where he stood. The cassowary shrieked and cackled as he was consumed in an instant - leaving only a smoking pile of blackened bones. “Well,” Ghost piped up. “I guess his goose got-” “Don’t you dare, Ghost!” “-Cooked.” *** This was my story for 's delightful Secret Santa story exchange! I wrote for u/gurgilewis, who provided the following constraints: >**Location:** Takes place in the seedy underbelly of a city that is the real-life version of the WP discord server. > >**Plot/Action:** Investigating a chat kill. > >**Uses:** Some of the server roles.


What did the rich drink, anyway?* “Whatever it is you rich folk drink.” I stared at her scrunched nose. She reminded me of a toddler refusing their vegetables. Where did this woman come from? “I wouldn’t serve this to a pig.” “I imagine you’ve never served anyone. I’m sure you have a butler and a maid and even people to take off your shoes.” “You don’t know me.” “Thank God for that,” I whispered, but loud enough that I knew she heard. The woman’s cheeks were flushed, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or embarrassment. I made an effort to make conversation over the next few minutes, but it was no use. The woman had walked into my store just ten minutes ago and already she’d insulted me three times and practically spat at everything as she stormed up and down the aisles of packaged goods. The click-clack of her heels over and over again felt like nails on a chalkboard. She made her way to the counter, staring me up and down, as if I were one of the pathetic souls she bossed around in her fancy life. “That’ll be $1.25” I said firmly. “For this? It tastes like it was made last week!” “You know what? Take it. I don’t need your money badly enough to listen to you ramble on. Take it and go.” I exhaled. The woman rolled her eyes and threw a five dollar bill on the counter. “I need a phone. You do have those out here, right?” “Yes. Don’t you?” She waved her cell in the air. “No service in this bum-fuck town.” I placed the landline on the counter. “Good luck reaching anyone. Storm’s knocked out most of the local power lines.” “Of course it has. This is just my luck.” She picked up the phone, pressed the talk button several times, then hung it up. “Just great. There’s no way I’m getting stuck here on Christmas Eve, with…you.I don’t have time for this.” I swallowed a chuckle and ran my hand through my mustache. “Something funny?” I shook my head, the grin twisting my mouth. “Go on…Mountain Man, what’s so funny?” “Nothing. I’m just surprised there’s anyone on this planet who’d willingly put up with you during the holidays. You’re insufferable.” “You don’t even know me! The nerve! And just what are you doing in this—” She looked around the store, “—hole in the wall, on Christmas Eve? Doesn’t seem like anyone’s rushing to share the holiday with you, either.” A knot twisted in my stomach as a weight hung heavy in my chest. I was ready to pick this woman up and throw her out into the snow, myself. “Some of us don’t have the luxury to take off whenever we want.” She nodded, eyeing me up and down. “Yes, I see you’d miss out on this rush of business.” A draft blew past the counter and I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was rather pleasant, like a touch of Spring wrapped in rose petals. It was the only pleasant thing about her. “What are you staring at? Don’t they teach any manners out here?” She pulled her blazer closed. “That’s rich coming from a woman who not even five minutes ago spit coffee onto the ground.” “I didn’t want to get poisoned.” “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I snarked, though, I knew there was no way she could leave. The snow continued to fall, ensuring I’d be trapped in this tiny store with the Bitch Who Stole Christmas at least for the next couple of hours. “You’re right. Clearly I’d be much better off out there. See you around, Mountain Man.” The woman walked to the front door and stopped, staring at the blustering winds and snow outside. The wind howled. She sighed heavily, glancing back ever so slightly, but continued out into the night. “Fuck.” I kicked the crate into the wall. Why me? Why was I the one cursed to provide shelter to this woman. I was too nice. She didn’t care about anyone other than herself. I knew the type, I knew it well. Rolling my eyes, I threw on my coat, and walked out into the blizzard after her. The air was frigid. I couldn’t even see her in the distance; visibility was awful. She couldn’t have gone far in this, certainly not in what she was wearing. “Hey, wait!” I trudged through the path in the snow, cursing myself, ignoring my already-frozen toes. Her figure came into view, her bold attire standing out against the white night. I walked closer, closing the distance between us until we were standing face to face. Tears streamed down her flushed face. She whipped around, facing away from me. “Go away. You were right. I’m insufferable.” “C’mon. I mean… yeah, you really are. But you don’t deserve to freeze to death out here. Come back in the store, just until the roads are cleared up some.” “Leave me alone. I don’t wanna spend the night with you, anymore than you do with me! I’ll be fine. My car’s just up the road. I can wait out the storm in there.” “Your car doesn’t have enough heat. You’ll freeze out here.” “What do you care?” “You’ll die. And then I’d have your death on my conscience.” In that moment, something shifted. Maybe the cold was making me delirious. Maybe the woman was working her devilish wiles on me. But the way her big eyes glowed against the brightness, there was a softness about her; a vulnerability. And sadness. One that she tried so hard to hide. “Look, if you don’t follow me back, I’m going to have to pick you up and carry you myself.” *God, what was I even saying?* “Does that line actually work for you? You better keep your filthy hands off of me. You know what, I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re crazy. I’d rather freeze!” With that, I grabbed her shivering body from the snow, holding her in my arms as I trudged back to the store. There was a second, just a brief second, where I saw the corners of her mouth turn up. She tried to hide it, but I saw her smile. Not so tough, I guess. Once inside, I gently put her down. “You really are crazy! Who do you think you—” “You’re welcome.” I interrupted. “But I mean, if I’m crazy, and you’re that committed, go on. You’re free to leave at any time.” She brushed the snow onto the floor and looked from me, to the door. “Fine. But don’t think this means I like you or something. I don’t. I’m leaving the second I can.” “Sure. Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” “I am not your sweetheart.” “Well, that part you have right. Aint nothin’ sweet about you, lady.” “Priscilla.” “Pri-what?” “My name, it’s Priscilla.” I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. “Even your name is prissy.” “Well I’m sure you have a very backwoods name. Like Butch or Buster or something weird like that.” “Actually, the name is Jack. After my father and his father.” “I guess that’s not so bad.” I smiled. When she put down her guard, even just a little, she was tolerable. Endearing, even. And she was quite attractive. “Your clothes are soaked. I have some sweats in the backroom if you like.” I walked to the back without waiting for her response. When I returned, she was sitting on the counter. I tossed the t-shirt and sweats in her lap. She held them up. “You wear these? Like… in public?” I laughed. It was the closest thing to a thank you I would get from her. “There’s a bathroom you can change in.” I pointed to the right. “Well I guess I don’t have a choice.” Prissy, as I’d started thinking of her, went into the bathroom and changed. For the next four hours, we watched the storm from the window in my makeshift room in the back of the store. We talked about our very different lives and shared a bottle of brandy. We even played cards—I let her win, of course. She really wasn’t all that bad. The night could have been much worse. And to be honest, it really was better than spending it alone. Though, I would never tell her that. I got the feeling that this was the first time she’d actually had fun in a very long time. Shuffling the cards in my hand, I glanced out the window. The snow had finally stopped and the sun was rising. The plows attempted to make their way down the main road. “Looks like it’s clearing up a bit. You can rush back to your fancy life now.” “I’m sure you’re happy about that. You can finally get rid of me.” “Well, it’s not like I have plans. I mean, you can stay, if you need to.” A smile adorned her face, and her cheeks flushed. “I guess it’s still pretty rough out there. Maybe I should stay here a little longer. Just to be safe.” “Yeah, just to be safe.” I grinned back. “Merry Christmas, Prissy.” “You, too, Mountain Man.”   *** - This is an extended version of the original 800-word version I wrote for our Discord Secret Santa Story Exchange! - While I don't do typically do romance, thank you u/DannyMethane_ and u/LeeBeeWilly for the constraints that pushed me to write something out of my comfort zone. Merry Christmas! - Check out r/ItsMeBay for more stories by me.


***Flag***\*,\* ***Indian summer,*** ***cannonball.*** *Actions:* ***Christmas carols are being sung***\*,\* ***Someone is being chased***\*. Phrases: “\****It happens this time of the year”,*** \*“\****We have until midnight”***  “Crack!” the kitchen window said, as its locking mechanism snapped. Snow drifted in and scattered like a dusting of sugar over the kitchen counter. Two sets of boots tracked mud across the surface. One belonged to a skinny man, who climbed as though his gangly teenage growth spurt had just kept spurting. The other set belonged to a stubby man with a round face like a cannonball with a big nose attached. These were not nice men. They were Christmas present thieves. Sadly, it’s true, it happens this time of year. Following them through the window, the distant sound of Christmas carols serenely drifted in. They crept towards the red-green glow of Christmas lights tickling the tree upon which they sat. “Hey. Whassat?” Jerry backhanded Arsene in his big bulbous nose. “Ouch! Whadya do that for, nitwit!” Arsene stomped on Jerry’s foot. Jerry pointed towards two ghostly figures at the foot of the Christmas tree. Arsene’s mouth opened wide as he froze. One of the two figures was gangly with a long black scraggly beard, and nimble fingers unwrapping presents. The rotund man stood guard. He kicked the gangly one, and they both faced the two would-be thieves. “Who are you, old geezers? Get outta here,” Arsene fired at them. “This is our hit.” “Arse.. Arsene…” Jerry stammered, hitting him like he was a piñata refusing to open.”It’s us.” As if staring at a mirror that took decades to reflect the light, it *was* them, but ancient, wrinkled, and decrepit. “We are you,“ the old Arsene croaked, “from the future.” “And I guess the thieves of Christmas past are gonna sneak up behind us and tell us to stop stealing their jujus,” the younger Jerry sneered. Old Jerry stroked his long beard, an unconscious mannerism. “To us, you guys are the thieves of Christmas past.” “A reminder that we had a choice once,” old Arsene added. “We have until midnight when the old Santy Claus turns up,” he faltered. “To stop you… to convince you to…” He lost his train of thought. “Whatever you do. Don’t touch him.” “Why not?” young Jerry asked. “If you touch him,” old Jerry said, “his time travel juice will get on you and drag you along with him. Me an him, “ he pointed to old Arsene, “have been stuck in here time traveling with him for,” he paused tapping his fingers, “fifty years.” “We are begging you… leave now,” old Arsene added. ”Give up… something…” he shook his head clearing the cobwebs. “It ain’t worth it.” The young Jerry looked at his watch, showing five minutes to midnight. “‘ang on, what were you looking for before.” “The Christmas favor...” Old Jerry started before he clammed up with a kick in his shins from old Arsene. “What’s that then?” young Arsene asked. “Sounds kinda expensive.” “Yeah,” young Jerry added. “Why don’t you both get outta here. You’re just trying to steal what we’re already stealing.” Old Arsene shook his head in dismay. Old Jerry looked down to the floor. Paused. Then plucked something from the floor and ran. “Oi!” Young Jerry chased after him, clattering chairs, smattering cutlery, and battering through the dining room. They bundled up the stairs until he caught the old fella flagging on the landing. Pinning him to the floor, young Jerry snatched the item from his hands. It was a gold-gilt snowglobe glowing as if a firefly was trapped inside it. A flash of light filled the house, momentarily blinding them all. The room warmed as though an Indian summer was beating away the winter chills. “I would like to invite you to return that gift to the box,” a deep voice was heard from the living room. All four men were overwhelmed by a red glow emanating from the large man who filled the room as though he demanded attention. “Now that you have seen the consequences of your actions,” Santa spoke in a soothing voice to the younger versions of Jerry and Arsene. “The punishment for stealing Christmas presents is severe.” He indicated the two decrepit skeletal men, the thieves of Christmas future. “Again, I invite you to return the gift.” Jerry held the snowglobe out in the palm of his hand, as though he was Frodo presenting the One Ring. He’d probably get a few hundred for it down at the Pick N’ Snatch. Enough to get him and Arsene through the winter. He looked back at the two broken old men. Arsene whispered to Jerry as they both approached the red-clad time traveler. “Give it to ‘im. I don’t wanna end up like them. We find another way.” Nodding, Jerry placed the decoration back in the box and rewrapped the paper. “At the fiftieth time of asking,” Santa whispered, rubbing his temples. “Thank you.


## Home for the Holidays Snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked through the streets of my old neighborhood, my mother’s words from earlier that evening echoing in my head: *If you’re not my son, and you’re not my daughter, I don’t know what you’re doing in my house.* The Christmas lights, cheap, tacky, and beautiful, seemed to wonder the same thing. “Go back to the city,” they blinked on and off, never in-between. “Change isn’t welcome here.” “But I haven’t changed,” I wanted to say. “I haven’t.” But it was too cold to stop and argue. I had to move on. I didn’t mean to end up at Maggie’s Diner, but my feet had to take me somewhere, and there was nowhere else to go. I’d grown up with the owner’s daughter, Jess, and we’d spent a lot of time in that diner. But that was six years and a gender ago; Maggie wasn’t likely to recognize me like this – not a man, but certainly not the girl her daughter used to hang out with, either. A bell on the door jingled the same familiar greeting as I entered the diner, which was empty save a few homeless people at the counter. It was Maggie’s tradition to stay open on Christmas Eve, even though few paying customers came in, and to give the homeless a hot meal and an escape from the cold. A familiar voice caught me by surprise. “Hello, stranger, what brings you here?” I turned to a smiling Jess who, besides the uniform, barely seemed to have changed, herself. *Strangers, is it, now?* “I’m just passing through. I thought I had some family here, but I was mistaken.” “Oh. I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Take a seat, and how ’bout I get you some hot cocoa?” “That sounds perfect,” I said, taking a seat and picking up a menu so shiny it could have been a mirror. *Finally, something different*, I thought, but as I looked it over, I realized that despite the new look, it hadn’t changed, either. Jess returned a few minutes later with the hot chocolate, topped with toasted marshmallows just the way I remembered. Something, at last, to bring a smile to my face. “Do you see anything you like?” she asked. *I like you, Jess. I always have. But you wouldn’t like me if you knew who I was.* “I’ll have the turkey dinner.” “Comin’ right up,” she said, then flitted off. Just as I was enjoying the silence, the jukebox started up – *All I Want For Christmas Is You.* As far as Christmas songs go, not bad, but I was hardly in the mood. Jess returned and sat down at my table, in the booth opposite me, with a hot chocolate of her own. “So, where do you call home?” She hadn’t changed a bit – as forward as ever. "I live in San Francisco." “San Francisco? You don’t sound like you’re from California.” “Well, no, I didn’t grow up there. I moved there.” “Why?” *Why? To get away from here.* “I guess I felt I’d fit in better. In a big city, I mean.” Jess nodded. “I know what you mean. I don’t exactly fit in, myself.” Maggie approached with a tray. “Here’s your turkey dinner, and I thought you might like another hot cocoa.” “Ma,” Jess said, “you forgot to toast the marshmallows.” “Toast the marshmallows? What on Earth are you talking about? The only person I ever toasted marshmallows for was that girl you had a crush—” Her mouth dropped. “Victoria?” “It’s, um, just Vic now.” I looked at Jess. “You knew?” “Of course I knew, you idiot.” “Does this mean you’re into girls?” asked Maggie. “Ma!” “Well,” I said, looking at Jess, “you’re a girl, so I guess the answer is yes.” She blushed, and suddenly all her other blushes made sense. How had I missed so many signs growing up? What else had I missed? “Well,” Maggie said to Jess, “it seems like you finally got that Christmas present you always wanted.” And I had, too. “Being wanted,” I said. “is the best present I could have ever hoped for.


Ryan wakes up to the sound of skittering across the room. He fumbles round for his glasses and finds them on the wedge between two couch pillows. Sitting up he realizes he’d only been asleep an hour. Work had been insane this past week and this is not what he needed right now. Someone was going to pay. Is it rat? He never had a rat problem in this apartment. Looking across the room he finds a cat—a cat? Its strangely focussed stare irritates him. Squinting at it he notices some kind of metal contraptions on its back legs and something on his forelegs as well. The cat also has a bizarre headpiece. “Yes, Ryan. This is what happens when you don’t sleep for over thirty hours,” he tells himself. “Human.” Ryan jumps a little at the sound of the distinctly feminine voice. He looks around to find whoever it was but his apartment is empty as usual other than his feline guest. “Human,” the voice insists. That cat… it just spoke right now. “Were you speaking? What the fuck? How did you get here? Get out! Oh my God—” “Calm down, you silly human. I am hearing—” “I am not going to calm down—” “—on my master’s behalf to catch a rat—” “—an animal talk!” Ryan and the cat stare at each other unblinkingly. “What do you mean a rat—” “What is it cats not talking—” They stare at each other some more. “Females go first,” he grumbles. “Humans go first,” the cat says just as insistently. They stare at each other some more. “Cats are good communicators, but they can’t talk,” Ryan says with conviction. “Stupid human, I can talk because of this,” the cat says, pointing to the contraption around its neck and the head piece. “This converts my language to yours—” “There is no such technology!” “—and stop interrupting me. I am from the year 2165,” Ryan scoffs, “and all the animals have been able to speak for over 30 years.” Ryan sits there blinking. This is not his night. He has a talking cat that says it time travelled—Ryan needed alcohol. He can’t survive this without alcohol. Getting up he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer. A sudden whoosh sound makes him twirl on the spot and— “My couch…” His couch is gone… and so is that coat he loved. That cost him a good $250. And the couch… $1500 all gone. He’d spent months living frugally for this. His eyes turn to the culprit that now had a squirming rat in a box. “What did you do to my couch, you menace?” Ryan growls, advancing on the creature. “Zero-g, activate.” A sudden pulse hits him and his mind spins out of control as his body becomes weightless. There’s a cord wrapped around his ankle and the cat pulls him like a child pulls on a balloon. He’s pulled to his room and another pulse later, all his weight hits him at once and he groans from his position on the bed. His stomach turns, he tries to vomit but nothing comes out. He tries to glare at the cat, but the cat very quickly plays something. It’s so soothing… ‐‐‐ The cat presses a button to portal out of this time. This mission had been one disaster after another. She wants to do nothing but blame it on her master. Stupid Master, she thinks as she steps through the portal. Between one blink and the next, the cat is back to her time. It’s time for decontamination. First up is the anti-fungal field, then comes the anti-bacterial and then the miscellaneous. The rat despite its fugitive status is treated to the same things. An hour and some verbal statements later, after the rat is taken away to rat prison, the cat is finally allowed to go to her master with the device. “Missy,” her master cries. Again, with the silly name, when will her human stop giving her stupid names. Her name was Missile, not missy! She turns her nose up and walks away to place the device on the table. She’s about to get on her bed and sleep when her master attacks her. She growls and sinks her claws into her stupid human’s arms but he doesn’t listen. He’s still crying tears of joy, stroking her head and the cat wants none of it. “Missy, I missed you so much. Where did that come from?Did you have to go to stupid time—” “Whose fault is that?” she interrupts. “Mine.” He grins happily. She grumbles, settling down for the pets. She does like them. “There was damage,” she begins. “The corps will pay for it,” her master says. She settles down to sleep. This was written for the wonderful u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange.


This story is for the WP 2021 Secret Santa Story Exchange Constraints given by /u/xacktar: **Includes:** an animal in the story, have something colored red and white, have a fir tree / **Character:** have an elderly person as a character, **Time:** have it set in winter / **Action:** have a character kiss someone on the cheek **Word Count:** 791 ### Begin Again The morning sun glared off the snow in the East. Julia loved to watch the powdery drift flowing off the tips of the snow dunes as the sun rose. Each glittery swirl reminded her of simpler times; times when she believed in magic. A gentle creak from behind pulled her from the moment. “Good morning, Grandma!” Her grandson wore a grin as bright as the sunrise. “Good morning, sweetheart!” She never could help herself from returning his enthusiasm. “Would you like some pancakes for breakfast?” “Why don’t you keep enjoying the sunrise, and I’ll make *you* pancakes?” Wren made his way to his grandma’s rocking chair and wrapped the red and white afghan around her. He kissed her on the cheek before she could answer. It was already decided. Wren bounced to the kitchen to get started and Julia’s gaze was drawn back outside to the wintery landscape. She watched snow blow around on the dunes, fall in clumps off the firs, and little creatures scamper around narrowly avoiding being buried in the tiny avalanches. Two squirrels found shelter under the boughs of a nearby tree. They huddled over some food or nut treasure that had miraculously appeared in the frozen tundra. They chittered loudly at one another, appearing to argue over who gets to keep it. Wren announced breakfast, so Julia once again pulled herself from the scene to join him at the table. “Absolutely delicious!” “Thanks, Grandma.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t continue. They enjoyed the rest of breakfast in comfortable silence. Wren led his grandmother back toward her rocking chair, supporting her with a strong elbow crooked for her grip. However, in the middle of the living room, instead of turning toward the bay window, she tugged him toward the front door. “Where are you going?” “I have to show you something. Get your boots and coat on.” She wrestled with her own snowboots that came halfway up her calves and wrapped herself in her fluffy winter coat. He gazed at her in confusion but did as he was told. Once outside, Julia led her grandson through the snow, past the back yard, beyond the covered vegetable garden, and through a clearing in the trees. They were nearing the edge of the property farthest from other signs of civilization. The wilds. Julia didn’t slow down until she reached the wall of a cliff. There, she felt the rock face and walked a few steps from their original path. She pushed aside dormant vines and leaves crackled and fell to the ground. A short opening appeared and she slipped into it. Wren followed, speechless. It wasn’t dark inside the tiny grotto. Light emanated from a babbling spring in the center. Cushions and mementos surrounded the water as if people had sat around it like a campfire. “This is the last place I saw your grandfather. It probably will seem crazy to you, but…” Her grandson was leaning closer to the water, hand reaching out… “Wren! Wait. Please.” His hand snapped back to his side and he looked at her with wide eyes. “It looks like…” he chuckled to himself. “It looks like magic.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It *is* magic. But, magic isn’t always good. This spring will rejuvenate anyone that drinks from it, no matter age or illness.” Her eyes were fixed hard on his; she would not let him take this lightly. “Your grandfather is not dead.” “What!” She gave him a moment to process the information before continuing. “I know, we had the funeral and… I know! It’s crazy! Just listen, please.” “I don’t understand, Grandma.” There was pain on his face now, grin lines turned to frown lines in one secret sentence. “He drank. We lived here our whole married lives and agreed that when our kids and our grandkids were old enough to be left to live their lives, we’d start ours over. But, I changed my mind. I couldn’t bear to leave you and the rest of the family. He still drank. He left.” “Oh, Grandma. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe any of this. It’s all insane and just, god. You must be hurting so much right now.” He had stepped closer and took Julia in his arms. She patted him on the back as she told him, “I know it was the right thing to do. I’m not sad.” He pulled away enough to look at her face, and sure enough, she was happy. Not a tear welled in her eyes. “I just knew it was time to pass along the secret since I don’t know how much time I have left. I hope you will find someone to share this one with.


The Daedelus didn’t have any way of keeping up with days or hours. That was up to Mina. And in space, time didn’t matter. It was always a different day in a different year on a different planet. And Mina measured *her* time using an old wind-up clock she had taken from her small colony back on Vexus. Each thirteen-hour rotation signaled another day past. Today, she determined she’d been stuck on the Daedelus for fifteen-hundred and twenty-one days. Roughly four years Vexus time. Mina yawned wide, stretching out her arms as she leaned backwards over the captain’s chair. Looking over the controls, she confirmed that nothing needed to be readjusted. The speed and flight path of the Daedelus was right on track to reach the planet of Palmyra in an estimated four-hundred and fifty-eight days. With ample time to waste, she looked around for something to do. She could pick up a book but she had already read everything this ship had to offer one-hundred times over. She could play solitaire or write in her journal but there was nothing to write of. So, instead, she waited anxiously by the comms station hoping for that familiar voice to come over the radio and wish her good morning. She debated reaching out to him first but– no. She was sure he had other things to do and he’d wait until he was alone. “Alone like me,” she thought. Her face fell. Right now, she wished she wasn’t alone. It devastated her to remember she was the sole survivor of her disease ridden colony. Not that she could forget. The fact that she was on this ship, fleeing that god forsaken planet reminded her every day. For what had seemed like hours, Mina stared at the ship's console, lost in her thoughts. When the lights on the comms station finally lit up, a rough, gravelly voice came over the speaker and Mina bolted up in her chair. “Morning, Beautiful.” Mina snatched up the transmitter and rolled her eyes. A grin spread across her face as she spoke into the receiver, “You’ve never actually seen me, John. I could look like Quasimodo for all you know.” “You’re wrong about that. I’ve seen you in my dreams every night and Quasimodo has nothing on you.” A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. She couldn’t help it. Every time he complimented her that way she felt giddy. Like a child who had just heard the funniest thing. “Plus, I should be the one worrying about appearances. Once we meet on Palmyra you’ll take one good look at me and turn your heels back around. Right now, I have the advantage of being on another ship. Sight unseen. Eventually, you’ll have plenty more options.” “I don’t want options. You're who I want.” It was true. She didn’t need to see him to know that she loved him. She just needed him. “And if you wanted,” she teased, “You could move to Palmyra with me. I’ve heard There’s lots of opportunities down there. You could train for some fancy job, be a veterinarian, or a banker, or a chef. Something like that.” she chuckled to herself knowing he would hate that idea. “I’m a pilot Mina, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself down there.” “Well, then maybe we can get our own ship. A cargo ship.” “And you’ll give up living on solid ground? You’ll miss the opportunity to watch sunsets on the grass? To breathe in fresh air everyday? To swim in an ocean again? You’d walk away from all that just to be stuck on another ship with no one but me and whatever crew we take on?” Mina didn’t hesitate to answer. “We can look out the windows and watch the sunrise over the planets we pass by. We can watch them rise again on the other side. And as long as there is you and me, I don’t care about anything else.” “Where would we get the money for this ship?” She could tell by the tone of his voice he was grinning. Even thought they’d had this conversation so many times before it never got old. “I’ll sell this one. Or maybe we could steal one and become intergalactic fugitives and travel across the galaxies? It’d be fun to be the next Bonnie and clyde.” A roar of laughter boomed out of the speaker. Though he would never admit it and they’d never do it, she could tell he secretly liked the idea. “I have to go Mina. I’ll radio back later.” He was still laughing when the transmission ended and Mina was left all alone again. She stood up and looked over the ship’s course again. “Right on track,” she whispered, “Only four-hundred and fifty-seven more days till Palmyra.” \ This is my Secret Santa Story for u/DannyMethane_ My constraints were: A veterinarian, in space, and it had to be a romance...


This was written for u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange. I took it upon myself to include Say in the fun, and secretly asked for constraints and had constraints provided for them. This is the story I wrote for u/Say_Im_Ugly using the following constraints: Words: smitten, gingerbread, Jack Frost, glisten, sprocket. Include: something broken, a robin. Genre: Please pick the genre you enjoy writing in the most. The white glow of the TV light danced across the interior of the cabin, as the last remnants of the B Horror movie Jack Frost splashed across the screen. The fading aroma of a Christmas ham intermingled with the alluring smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies and filled every corner of the small lodge in the Montana wilderness. Nelly and Brett had planned this getaway for months now. Years spent with their increasingly chaotic families left them yearning to find some peace for the holidays. They had both been smitten with the area surrounding Yellowstone after their honeymoon a few years prior, and decided this year to get away from the hustle and bustle of their daily lives in the DC metro area by returning to bring in the new year. The couple, still well in the prime of their lives, had spent the first night, Christmas Eve, in each other’s arms, finally able to relax and melt away the stress, sublimating into the deadened silence of the snow-covered countryside. Occasionally, the stillness would be shattered by the snapping of branches under the weight of snow and various calls from local wildlife. Which is why it was so concerning when Nelly and Brett heard footsteps squeaking through the snow. “Shh. What is that?” Nelly said, recoiling from Brett’s embrace. His pulse quickened as he tuned his ears into the broken silence. The unmistakable crunch of snow compacting underfoot. The steps were weighty, slow and intentional in their pattern. “Footsteps. Probably a Park Ranger. Stay here.” Brett said. He swung his legs out of the bed and into his discarded Christmas-themed pajama pants. His feet, now freezing after being uncovered, quickly found the inside of his sherpa-lined slippers. Not bothering to find a shirt, the fleece lining of his leather jacket produced an unfamiliar feeling on his skin. As he stepped into the large common area of the cabin, reaching from the kitchen through the living area, he toggled the light-switches and illuminated the interior, hoping to disarm the source of the footsteps, acknowledging their presence. Brett stepped out into the blistering cold and called out. “Hello? Is that a Ranger out here?” Brett asked. His query was met with the same silence found before the footsteps which concerned him. Whoever it was had stopped moving and they did not reply to him. “Is that a Park Ranger out here?” Brett called again. Once again he was met with utter silence. A breeze rose through the air, kicking up fresh powder from the ground and out of tree branches above. The cold wind painfully stung his face. “I’m going back inside. If you’re not a Park Ranger, please, just go away. We don’t have cash or valuables, we’re just here to relax.” Brett said, bargaining with an unknown visitor with unknown intentions. He did as he said and returned to the warm embrace of the inside of the cabin with its glowing fire and seasonal aromatics, where his wife waited. He had no sooner reached the hall with the light switches when the electricity cut off entirely. The eerie silence somehow became quieter, their ears now adjusting to the lack of ambient sound. “Brett?” Nelly called out. “I’m here.” Brett said. “What’s going on?” “The power went out.” Brett said, crossing the threshold into the bedroom. “Must be a downed line somewhere.” he added, full of false optimism. “Who was outside?” Nelly asked. “No one. Must have been branches falling or something.” Brett said, attempting to quell any fear Nelly had. “I know I heard footsteps. They must have been!” Nelly contended. “There’s no mistaking the sound of footsteps on snow.” She said, her voice quivering with uncertainty. Almost as if on cue, the silence was once again shattered by a violent explosion of splintered wood as a large man burst through the same door Brett had closed moments earlier. The cacophony of sounds that filled the cabin in the remote countryside over the next few minutes were a chaotic mess of screams, grunts, and the whine from the driving sprocket of a chainsaw. In the morning, the snow surrounding the cabin glistened in the crisp December air. On a low hanging branch, a robin called out, sending miniature plumes of breath out into the stillness that once again blanketed the wilderness. A trail of bloody footprints disappeared into the thick woods behind the cabin.