If You Believe

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer played softly in the background as the overexcited child bounced around the room.

"And I hope he gets me that doll I wanted, and-"

"He won't be getting you anything at this rate," her mother warned, "not until you're fast asleep."

The girl practically jumped into bed at the words, pulling up the quilt and grabbing her Christmas Bear from the side."Did you put out the milk and cookies?"

"Yes," her mother assured, tucking in the folds of the sheet.

"And the letter?"

"Yes."

"And the carrots for the reindeer?"

"Yes." She moved around to the other side of the bed now, "Everything's ready. Now go to sleep. It'll be morning before you know it."

She kissed her daughter on the forehead, before switching off the lamp.

"Mum," came the voice through the dark, "Santa is real, right?"

She paused at the door, her words processing for just a moment before they flowed out. "He's as real as you want him to be. If you believe, he will come."

[174 words]

Change in Christmas

The best Christmases are when you are young. When you go to bed so early, for fear Santa will not come, when you wake up before the sun has risen and sneak a look at the presents under the tree. Peek through the window, the carrots for the reindeer are gone, and the milk on the table is drunk, crumbs still left on the plate. The Christmas movies seem so real, and the carols you sing as loud as you can. Something changes in that over the years. I'm still trying to work out what that is.

[97 words]

Merry Christmas all!

Sleep or Lack Of

No matter how much he tried to rub his eyes, the sleep remained in them, that tired feeling, drowsiness and wanting to sleep all day. His nightmares were getting worse and did little to help his sleep pattern. Not until he could stop looking over his shoulder every two seconds, wondering when the worst was gonna come or if it had already. He needed to get out before this place ruined him. It already had ruined him. He just wanted to go home, have one night of peaceful sleep and keep it that way.

[94 words]

Light and Dark

Life was what you made it, or so the saying goes. If you were feeling blue, or grey, if there were clouds that carried rain, it was up to you to pick up the umbrella and dance. To make patterns out of the raindrops or prance into the puddles with glee. To hear the music in the sound of the pitter patter on the roof or get the popcorn when the lightning shows. And when the sun comes out again, you have to enjoy it as long as you can. For should a light go out one day, there's always a chance the dark will stay.

[106 words]

Air of Nothingness

He stared at the shadows making lines on the cement, a cage he was trapped inside of and one he wasn't sure of the escape route. This whole thing had turned into a mess. A complete and utter mess. Now he couldn't tell which way was right and wrong, who to believe and what to follow. The metal bars were cool against his skin as he rested his forehead against them and waited for a time he wasn't sure would come. A time when the problem would sort itself out, without all the worries and hassles it was supposed to bring. Just for it to evaporate into an air of nothingness, and he wouldn't be happier.

[116 words]

Handle It

He couldn't do it. He couldn't play the part of a criminal. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, and it wasn't like he could start rehearsing. They wanted answers now, ones he didn't have. Had Cameron really expected him to pull off something like this, or was he actually wanting Damien to tell on him? How he'd love the courage to do that. To tell his story, to tell every last fact. But how could he? He'd never truly trusted anyone after that, too afraid of getting hurt. It had impacted on the rest of his life, and would continue to do so for as long as he lived. The question was how long he'd be able to handle it.

[123 words]

Twelve Hours

She wondered what the day would be like when she would finally just sit there one day, and write. All day. Without a distraction. Without a writer's block. Just sit, for twelve hours a day, and write. She wondered if it would ever happen, that day of progress she longed for so much. Naturally, it was up to her. The task lied within her hands and she was the only one stopping herself from that, but it would be a difficult thing to pull off, no doubt. There was always something lagging, something tugging at that wishful desire. And when the day came, perhaps it would make it easier on every time after that. Perhaps the meaning of leaving blood on the typewriter keys and ink in those veins would begin to sink in.

[134 words]