The Whimsical Sun

It always rained where I lived, and the sun never showed its face. January to December: an encore of relentless grey days.

Sometimes during the summer break, when the gray became unbearable, my mother allowed me a night’s stay at my best friend's house next door.

There at her place, we would play late into the night and there was always an abundance of hot chocolate and stories to go around. Late mornings, while we were still in bed, her father used to roll up the clacking blinds, and tiny motes of dust danced in the sun, just like magic.

From Guest Contributor E. Rhyme

A Man Among Ferns

He remembers waking up—ages ago—amid ferns, with neither a plan nor any desire to ever be waking up again at all, least of all amid ferns, which he had considered to be beautiful before he wandered into them and disappeared, hoping to disappear forever.

Now, almost a half-century later, he endures his almost unendurable insomnia in the broadest daylight his personal December has to offer. He sits with his journal at his favorite café table by the window, attempting to capture any fragment of last night’s dreams, but is sadly reminded—again—that not all attempts are successful.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

First Contact Downer

First contact occurred in the year twenty twenty-two.

The spaceship lands on a cold rainy day. December the seventh at eight fifteen in the evening.

Many high-ranking government officials from around the world are lined up by the tarmac waiting to greet the visitors.

Around the landing site crowds have gathered from all around the globe. Hoping to get a glimpse of aliens on this historic occasion.

A sliding hatch opens and a group of aliens depart the ship.

The two sides make small talk. There is great disappointment when earthlings learn the race of aliens is called Kill Humans.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

An Invitation

As Tom flipped through his mail, he hesitated when he came to a thick parchment envelope, intricately addressed with gold trim. This was certainly not a bill.

Breaking open the wax seal, Tom pulled forth a hand-inked letter in an elegant cursive, with the type of curls that indicated a tremendous sense of self-worth.

"Dear Thomas Pendergraph," the letter began, "Your presence is requested in the royal palace on the fifth of December..."

Tom scanned to the bottom of the correspondence. It was signed by the Emperor.

He tossed the letter into the trash bin with the other junk mail.

December Massacre

They descended from the north in what was now known to be an annual migration. They infiltrated homes and attacked numerous places of business and seemed to be standing on every street corner. There was no escape.

It was called Christmas, and the invaders were all fat, old men dressed in red and riding on sleighs pulled by flying reindeer. They especially preyed on the children, who were more susceptible to their bloody attacks.

When they finally retreated to their Arctic home, they left behind nearly total devastation. Their ritualistic sacrifice of baby Jesus was the worst part of all.