Friday, 30 November 2012

In The Bleak Midwinter




http://rochellewisofffields.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/christmas-2005-0101.jpg




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
@nickjohns999 


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

9 comments:

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

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

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  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.

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

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

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

    ReplyDelete