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Rated: 13+ | Short Story | Holiday | #1047143
Writers just don't say "Merry Christmas", they write stories about it.
It was a dark and stormy night. Dark . . . like when the lights went out in the haunted house and you were stuck there with "Wanda the Blonda," who had the I.Q. of the empty six-pack you and Jimmy drank after your first little league game. Yeah, that game. You remember...the one where you got kicked off the team for flipping off the umpire after he called you out at first base. It wasn't that Wanda was ugly, or anything. It was just that you had never done "it" before. And you never did "it" that night, did you? Heck no. You were too scared, weren't you? In fact, Wanda left the haunted house laughing at you. She started calling you "tiny," which was an incredible accomplishment for her, since her usual conversation consisted of words of three letters or less.

It was a dark and stormy night. Stormy . . . like the time your dad flipped out after you stole his car and knocked over thirty-seven rural mailboxes, four stop signs, two railroad crossing markers, and a shopping cart out of one old lady's hands. Jimmy was with you on that one, too, wasn't he? What were you, twelve years old then? How many paper routes, mowed lawns, and odd jobs did you have to take to pay off the damage you caused? It took you six years, but you did it.

It was a dark and stormy night. Night . . . and you had just gotten back from spending four days in Chicago on business. You were tired that night, weren't you? Fighting the crowds at O'Hare was something you never looked forward to, especially after 9/11. But you did it anyway. You did it because it was your job. If there was one thing in your life you were good at, it was your job. You had a knack for putting deals together. When two or more factions couldn't get together, they called you. You hadn't failed yet.

It was a dark and stormy night. The taxi dropped you off at your house. You tipped the driver a little extra because it was the holiday season, and you were just glad to be home. You walked up the sidewalk to the front porch, and before you could reach for the doorknob, the door opened and the most beautiful woman you had ever known stood just inside. She was surrounded by three beautiful children. They were all yours, and you loved them with every cell in your body.

It was a dark and stormy night. And it was Christmas Eve. And you were home, safe and sound with your family. Merry Christmas to you and your family, my friend.

Jimmy
© Copyright 2005 jammin john (UN: jamminjohn at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
jammin john has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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