Caution: The following story from my muse is bent in a really bad way. Just never and I repeat never wonder what would happen IF..

Cliff woke up and rolled over not yet wanting to open his eyes. He did not know what had woken him up and he did not care in the slightest. It was Christmas today and he should be getting out of bed all excited like when he was younger but he was too tired. The small amount of whiskey he had had at the family gathering last night might have had something to do with it. Being newly 11 by a month he was almost a man, well a teenager at least, and his father had allowed him to have a small shot. It tasted awful and burned going down his throat.

 
 
[Admin Note]: In light of Wren's passing away just after Christmas, it is only fitting I give her Christmas entry A Lonely Christmas one last light at the top of our front page for all to see. The 2012 One Winter's Eve Contest is Dedicated to Wren Erindae Phoenix. May she find the peace and happiness in her next life that she struggled so hard to obtain here. I wish for God to grant that to her.

Originally posted on 2012-11-11 15:54:53 -0700, I am reposting this in Memoriam for her. ~Sephrena

The time is 12:40am December 21st.

Story synopsis: We meet the girls who are Joey's closest friends, and learn of a little bargain our young protagonist made with them that comes back to haunt him during his trip to the ice rink. Little does he realize that this day would change his life, as he finds new happiness--and The Girl receives a name.

Joey fairly bounced in his wheelchair seat, as he waited for the driver to offload him from the paratransit van so he could be loaded onto the school bus. Only the restraining hand of Ms. Osterreich, the teacher's aide, ensured he stayed firmly in place. He knew Aimee, Sarah and Moira would be there, and they promised him a little surprise when he saw them.

Donald Weaver hated Christmas, especially Christmas Eve, almost as much as he hated himself. It was supposed to be a time of joy and rejoicing. For the last two years it meant anger, frustration, supreme guilt and utter desolation. As he sat covered in the falling snow in front of the headstones of his family he took another swig from the rot-gut booze that was rapidly destroying his emaciated body. But on this horrid anniversary, even the booze couldn’t dull his pain. Two years... it seemed forever.

“I wish Gabs was here,” Juliette sniffled.

“We all do luv.” Jen pulled her eldest closer, Dave in turn gripping his wife’s shoulder in support.

They hadn’t used the car, it wasn’t worth the hassle, and the memorial after all was less than a kilometre from Bond Acres, near the junction with the main valley road. They weren’t the only ones headed there, the events of that night nearly a year ago affected a lot of folk in Dernau and round about, the memorial being unveiled today a physical reminder of that. So it was that they joined the subdued procession of townsfolk heading to the ceremony.

 
 
"Well girl, they'll be here any minute," I said to my cat Cleopatra, who sat lazily between presents under my modest tree.

I walked into the kitchen, checked the oven.