Flash Friday, December 19, 2014
Christmas Edition
Every Friday our challenge is to craft a 150-word story (10-word leeway) based on the photo prompt. Here's this week's picture--and my Christmas story:
Double Life
(156 words)
Every year when Christmas rolls around, She of Soft Hands
places me on my mantel perch. I survey my festive domain: the tree, the lights,
the bows, the tinsel. I’m happy.
Until he comes.
When She of Soft Hands leaves the house, Wicked One sneaks
over and snatches me.
Rather than Man of the Month, I become:
Saint
Nicked-the-presents, booked at the LEGO police station
Claus-trophobic, dropped in a LEGO castle
dungeon
Krispy Kringle, caught in the crossfire
between LEGO Jedi and the Dark Side
Father Christmas-past (or was it future?), crammed
in a LEGO DeLorean
And, to add insult to injury, he records my shame and parades
it on the Internet for other 12-year-old boys to scorn. “LEGOmoviemaker0001,”
indeed.
Where’s the love? Wouldn’t this be considered naughty? I’m
questioning all that I represent.
Oh no… She of Little Sticky Hands has grabbed me. Nooooo! Please,
not the LEGO Barbie Fashion Boutique.
Dammit. I’m Santa Claus-dresser.
Thanks for stopping by. Try your hand at flash fiction--it can be addicting!
My fingers linger over the last loop of my festival creation, relishing what’s to come, reluctantly reliving the past.
Freedom. I remember freedom, fitting in, living large, and taking life for granted.
Falling. I remember falling, my hands outstretched, the wind whooshing in my ears as I sought to stop the inevitable.
Heat. I remember heat, blinding yellows and reds enveloping me, burning me.
Pain. I remember pain, the soul-searing pain that screamed for weeks.
Horror. I remember horror, the revolted expressions etched in the sideways stares of people on the street.
Pity. I remember pity, poorly hidden in friends’ words of forced cheerfulness.
I lift the mask and slip it over my head, hiding the scars, the visible angry memories. Edging into the crowd, I lose myself in the masquerade. My heart rejoices as I am welcomed into the sea of revelers.
Dancing. I remember dancing. How could I forget?
Tonight, I am free, once again.
(157 words)