Grape Pop

Sweet ambrosia. Joy to the palate. Delight on the tongue, heart of my mouth.

Grape pop. Purple, sugary, and terrible for me. How I yearn for you above all else.

Come to me, my sweet.

Advertisements

Snack Food

Dave was munching on some leaves when his mother came up and smacked them out of his hand.

“Davey! What are you doing?”

“Just having a snack,” Dave said.

“Don’t eat that! Don’t ever! How many leaves did you eat?”

“Umm…” Dave counted on his fingers, not sure what answer would keep him out of trouble. “One?”

“Whew,” Dave’s mother sighed. “Good. Don’t ever eat that again!” She lifted the poinsettia and placed it high above Dave’s reach.

Dave walked away, looking for something new, while his stomach began to grumble.

Last Pastry

One pastry was left on the tray. No one touched it.

For hours, no one touched it. The party wound down, and the pastry stayed.

The next day, during the proper clean-up, still the pastry stayed. The whole family looked at it longingly. But it stayed.

The day after, the pastry was still there.

Finally, two weeks after the party, just as it was about to sprout some mold, Natalya said, “I’m eating it,” and popped the pastry in her mouth.

The rest of the family was sad.

Christmas Cards

Benton grabbed his knife. He slid it in, and tore upward, slicing open the envelope.

Inside, it was exactly as predicted. The inside of an envelope, and a card. Heavy stock, thankfully not caught by the letter opener. He pulled the card out, looked at the front, looked inside at the vague greeting from someone he sort of knew, and set the card down on the shelf with the rest.

The shelf was full, would soon start to push old cards off. Such would happen. But it was festive, for Benton.

Sleigh Bells

Gerald’s ears were still ringing.

He hadn’t signed up for the job. Hadn’t auditioned for the orchestra. But they were holding an event where, if you bought a ticket, you could play with them on stage for the annual Christmas concert. Gerald had a ticket, and he won.

He was escorted on stage. He was sent to the percussion session. He was given a brief training in sleigh bell use, holding the handle, the bells hanging down, his other hand tapping the top in time.

And then away they went.

Sleigh Ride was a fun piece. He hit the sleigh bells when the conductor pointed at him, stopped when waved at (which wasn’t until the end), and kept time, nodding with the other percussionists.

But the bells were loud. So loud. And when they finished, he could still hear them. Wanted to keep playing with them, though he knew he shouldn’t.

Gerald took his bow, the audience laughing and applauding, the orchestra shuffling their feet. But he couldn’t hear it, so he just smiled, and made his way back to the seat. He hoped his ears would recover son.

Cotton Candy

With strings of sugar everywhere, Laurie was in heaven.

The place was a spider’s web of cotton candy, blue and pink and yellow and green strung from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, stuck, somehow, to every surface. You could eat your way to a diabetic coma, or just lie in the soft, cushy candy.

Laurie looked around, imagined the taste in his mouth, and he salivated. He opened up, and began to enjoy the fruits of his labour.

Bathtub Party

Wilber’s bathtub party was poorly attended.

Wilber, of course, blamed everything else. The food, the weather, the various other goings on of the day. He refused to blame his own party idea.

His friends, when asked later, said, “Yeah, sorry, I had something else on.” Everyone seemed to have a family emergency or previous, uncancel-able plans. It was a perfect storm, they said.

The invitation to “A Party Where We All Chill in My Massivce [sic] Bathtub! Clothing Optional!”, however, had put a lot of people off, understandably. Wilber shrugged, and began to plan the next bathtub party.

Top Talent

Santa glanced at his list, laughed, and tore off the bottom section.

Having now halved the costs, he knew he could take it to the shareholders and present the yearly savings, make sure everyone on the board got a good bonus for their help in approving it.

The elves took another wage cut, too. Everything was on track for a better than last. Santa smiled. He knew his bonus would be the best of them all. You have to pay for this kind of talent.

Roof

Glenna sat on the floor. No heat. No lights. No furniture. No clothing, even. But she had a roof, and there were neighbours, and she could, at least, sleep in peace tonight. It was better than most others. She hoped it would last. Maybe even improve.

Tomorrow, food. Maybe heat. The blanket would do for now.

But she had a roof. That was enough.