Friday, 30 November 2012

In The Bleak Midwinter

In The Bleak Midwinter

He peers directly toward me, eyes watering in the icy wind. He can’t see me of course; no one can.

Shaking his head, he turns for home, tightly clutching the charity bag; protecting its precious contents.

He had the feeling. They all get it. Nothing I can do, just complete the job. I quicken my pace, closing with him, footsteps crunching on the newly gritted paving.

I reach out and touch his shoulder lightly, tenderly. He shudders and drops like a shot pheasant.

The bag bursts, toys decorating the street.

 He drifts towards the blinding bright light.

I hate Christmas.

100 Words

This story was written for the Friday Fictioneer challenge from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


  1. Sounds like the Grinch incognito or the Angel of Death. Not a nice character to be sure.

  2. I was aiming for a juxtaposition of the merry Christmas lit scene and what happens beneath the surface.

  3. OK, this is the third try at trying to get the site to accept both my comment and my profile info. I think you did a good job of showing death coming at a time when people expect if not joy, at least not death.

    1. Thanks for persevering Janet! I'm glad that it worked for you.

  4. He he not Ho Ho with that invisible menace of christmas.

  5. How very sad.
    Especially with toys decorating the street.

  6. How sad!
    Well written!