Gillian Church posts Writing Prompts every Wednesday and I like to take part with a few snippets and pieces of flash fiction.
Grandma said Santa is real, but that he can’t come to our village anymore. What did she mean?
“But why, Nanna?”
My nanna squinted at me through wizened eyes hidden behind rimless glasses. She rocked in a great wicker chair before a roaring log fire, a bundle of knitting in her lap. “Oh, child,” she answered, her voice a gravelly whisper, “T’was a time when all magic lived here. When people dec’rated trees an’ sang carols an’ made merry in street. But those times have long since passed.”
“But I’ve been really, really good!” I whined, pouting. I was sat on the large, fluffy rug at my nanna’s feet and gazed up at her with watery eyes, feeling like I had done something bad.
Nanna chuckled and laced her gnarled fingers together. “It don’t matter, child,” she soothed, a sympathetic look on her face. “Not since the Hooved-One was born.”
“Did…did He scare Santa away, Nanna?”
Nanna sighed and briefly gazed out of the frosted-up window at the perpetual darkness and steady snowfall that glared at us from behind the glass. “In a way…The Hooved-One had no time for Chrissmus cheer. As a youngling, He bawled every Chrissmus Eve; as a pint-sized babe, He torn down th’ tree an’ threw bricks when t’other chillun threw snowballs.”
My eyes widened in awe as my nanna continued: “When fully grown, the Hooved-One spread despair an’ darkness through th’ hearts of all men, good and bad. It dinnunt matter than that some dinnunt want to turn, jus’ like it don’t mater now how good you’ve been, Child. The Hooved-One turned all, an’ the light o’Chrissmus died out with each word He spoke and each heart He touched.”
“What’re we to do, Nanna?”
Nanna reached out and gently stroked my chin with her skeletal hand; her touch was ice cold despite the blazing heat filling the room. “Same thing we always do, child,” she cooed lovingly. “Praise Him.”
I turned my dark eyes up to meet Nanna’s vacant gaze. “Praise Him?”
“Yes,” she croaked. “Praise Him. Praise the Hooved-One. Praise His name.”
As the snow fall, I spoke my praises, hoping that He would hear them…and be pleased.
What did you think to this week’s writing prompt? Did you submit anything for it? Have you ever written any flash fiction before? I’d love to know what you think to my snippets and writing prompts, so feel free to sign up and let me know what you think below or leave a comment on my Instagram page. You can also follow Gillian Church to take part in her Wednesday Writing Prompt challenge.