Abraxes

May the gods and goddesses of our people bless the readers, especially those I love.

My name was Abraxes, and I was a slave. Despite this, the gods blessed me beyond all measure, and I will die as a member of the nobility. For my children, and their children, I wish to record what happened, so they may know how that happened, and thank the gods and goddesses who brought such joy into my life. The account I must relate is strange, stranger than any other I have heard of, but I swear by all our gods and goddesses that it is the truth.

Mockingbird

By Samanthe Michelle Davies (SamanthaMD)

“Fred, you really need to get someone in to clean for you,” remarked Trudy as the state of his house just outside Blackburn.

“Ay lass. But who is going to want to clean for a crackpot like me knowing full well, that 5 minutes after they’d left for the day it would be covered in greasy finger prints?”
“Fred! I can’t argue with that logic”
Fred ignored her and carried on his speech that Trudy had heard many, many times before.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house... Wait a minute, I think someone has already used that line. Darn, why can't I think of things like that first? But anyway, it really was the night before Christmas and the only difference between me and a little kid was about 45 years.

Chapter 4

As they were driving back to her place, Kelly looked inside Rhidas purse.

She wondered what the little black box with the red button was for.

She pushed it out of curiosity.

Author's note This is as true a version of my abuse as I can produce. I have removed some of what happened to me so it was readable, but it is still going to be tough for some people. Please consider your own state of mind before reading, as it may trigger.

I am 9 years old

Author's note. This isn't exactly a Christmas story. It is a story that takes place at Christmas, and that's different.

Inspection Time

It was inspection time in Hell again. Once a year, on the anniversary of the beginning of that terrible period called the Incarnation, an angel came down to the dark pit and observed.

At first, this had rankled Satan. He felt like it was rubbing his face in it. But after a while, he realized it was an opportunity to show off his successes, and it seemed like there were more of those every year.

Inane Christmas music that some idiot had decided was the perfect Santa’s Workshop tune, echoed blandly in the noisy room. Just hours away from the Fat Man’s only reason for existing, everyone including those preposterous excuses for reindeer, were getting ready for the Visit.

This story was inspired by a song of the same name done by a gospel group called New Song. If you want to hear some really moving Christmas music I urge you to look them up.

I was shopping late for Christmas, not unusual for a guy my girl friend was fond of teasing me, in a women’s shoe store. And no it wasn’t for my girlfriend. I was looking for something for myself.

Yes, Santa Claus... by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

To:
Justin Winter, Editor-in-Chief
Elfin Gazette
136 Thankful Ave. North Pole, Arctic Circle

From:
Santa Claus, President & C.E.O. ClausInc.
115 Grateful Way, North Pole, Arctic Circle
December 1, 2010

Author's note: this is somewhat based on my real experiences, although slightly fictionalized. It has some strong themes, involving the abuse of a child, but I think i handled it with enough sensitivity that it is readable, but the reader is hereby cautioned in case i have failed. I promise, I will get back to silliness of "The Lucky One" soon.

A Cop’s Story

Last Full Measure
By Ellie Dauber  © 2010

This is another story of Jakov Pauli, an assassin who specializes in identity death.

* * * * *

For the third time, Mike Ryan stared up from his booth at the clock on the wall of the diner. “14:33 hours,” he mumbled under his breath. “He’s late.”

“In point of fact,” a voice said, “that clock is five minutes fast. I am early.”

Mike spun around. A tall, slender man — about 40, Mike guessed — stood looking down at him. “Are you Pauli?” Mike asked.

I’d Do Anything for Love…But I won’t do That.

I can’t help but stare at the sight of the forty odd people kneeling before me with golden eyes flashing in the lodge’s firelight and all had lengthened canines.

I really, really should be freaking out right about now…

Will Slater wants to be as popular as his older brother John, the high school’s star quarterback. He thinks he’s found a way to make his dreams come true. The trouble with dreams is that they tend to go off in directions you'd least expect — and for most folks, trying to steer a dream can turn it into a nightmare, or take you places you'd never thought you'd go.

“George” said the woman lying next to her husband in bed.

He continued snoring gently.

“George!” she said more urgently.

Then she gave him a kick. The snoring stopped.

“Wassup?” he said sleepily

“They’re at it again”

“At what again?” he said totally disinterested manner.