Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Mighty Pen #24

The Mighty Pen flash fiction contest is a just for fun writing contest (inspired by my wonderful husband). I post the beginning of a story – and you post an end! I will choose a winner and several honorable mentions. The contest is open until Sunday night and the winner is announce on Monday where I feature them on my blog. Check out past winners on the tab above.

Note: This is a family friendly blog – so please keep it PG rated. Thanks!

The Beginning

Soft white flakes drift down from the dark sky. In the distance I see a shadow moving toward me...


  1. and I quickly recognize Oliver, my little beagle puppy padding through the snow behind me. His over-sized feet keep sinking and getting stuck, so he has to jump again and lands in a heap before trying to walk again. I scoop him up and wrap my blue knitted scarf around his neck to keep him warm. Oliver licks the salty tears off my face.

    "Thank you," I whisper.

    I continue through the snow as the snowflakes stick in my eyelashes. We arrive at the tombstone by the large oak tree and I kneel before it. I slowly pull the rose out of my jacket and lay it before the grave. My mitten hand touches the engraved words. My husband. I lean forward and place my lips upon the cold snow, wishing it was his warm cheek and he was holding me tight tonight. Oliver licks my chin and I smile at him.

    “Merry Christmas Oliver. Let’s go home.”

  2. Soft white flakes drift down from the dark sky. In the distance I see a shadow moving toward me... I really wanted to believe it would be Santa. After all, who wouldn't want a miracle after everything we had been through this year.

    Slowly the form took shape.

    "Oh, Hi Dad."

    "Don't sound so excited to see me." He winked at me with a wry smile spread across his face as if he were the proverbial court jester.

    "Wouldn't it be great is Santa was real? Just for this year."

    "Have a little faith. You may never know if you don't have some hope." Something in his voice, or in the look of his eyes told me that things were not just as they seemed.

    "Ok, a little hope." I conceded. "Love you Dad. Merry Christmas." As half hearted as it sounded, I hoped he know that I meant it.