Snowy mistletoe

The first snowflakes had hit the ground early at dew point. He was sleeping when they arrived. But that was the best surprise.

When he woke up, a white velvet carpet was awaiting him outside his window. The door needed a hard shove in order to open.

And then, as the frozen air slammed his face, it hit him. It was mid December. That season when everything suddenly seems so much nicer, so much more peaceful, more wonderful. The sparkling lights appeared even more brightly coloured now with the snowy background. People were more cheerful and smiles were abundant. It didn’t matter that it was so cold.

The only thing that mattered was that another year was slowly exiting, and everyone was striving to account for everything that had passed during these 12 months. It had to be good, so that the next ones would be even better and more fruitful.

It is the time when dreams are revived, ambitions reinvigorated, and emotions rekindled.

So when he saw the bright red mistletoe gleaming under the snowflakes on his frontfoor, he consciously knew that there will always be a light shining no matter how dark it gets. Surviving, no matter the weather.

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Bottled Message

There Andre was, sitting on his luxury soft blue towel, soaking in the last of the summer sun’s rays and enjoying the massaging feeling of the small white pebbles on his back. Routine would strike him sooner than he could expect and he was determined to make the most of every carefree moment he still had. When he got up to turn around – the secret to sunbathing is to roast on both sides equally – his eyes fell upon a glistening object at the water’s edge. At first, he thought it was a reflection that the waves had caused as they foamed ashore. He got up to quench his curiosity. It was a glass bottle. And yes, there was a message inside.

As Andre uncorked the storm-tossed bottle, he carefully unrolled the yellowish creased paper inside. It had four words scribbled on it in panic: “Help! SOS! In danger”.

Andre looked across the sea, towards the horizon. It was an unconscious act. Perhaps in his mind he believed he would have seen the shipwrecked letter-writer emerge and he could run (or rather swim) to his/her rescue. But there was nothing out there. The water was tranquil and not even a sailboat was apparent at the coastline.

Andre took out his tablet – because everyone has one form of technology or other available at all times, even at the beach – and began to search the news for shipwrecks. It took him a while, given the increased incidents of Middle Eastern migrants risking their very lives and abandoning everything in search of a better life in a new continent. But he finally found it. It was a small boat cramming 200 migrants. It had been found just hours after it sunk having completed over half of its perilous journey. All of its passengers, downtrodden humans just like everyone else, with a story of their own to tell if they could, men in their thirties and forties, women who seemed so much older than they really were and children who had had the innocence of their childhood stolen away from them, all perished at sea. All that remained as a reminder of their existence was this scrawny paper.

Andre got up. His holidays had just ended. He spent the rest of his time before returning to work, and as much free time as he had after that, volunteering in shelters and centres that were constructed especially for people who had nothing. Not necessarily for refugees who had come from afar, but even for people in his own country who were struggling to survive. A message in a bottle had changed his entire perspective. If he could have the same influence on someone else, imagine how much change could be brought about.

Also part of Daily Prompt: SOS

Do undocumented lives make an existence real?

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Who would know. But that doesn’t rule out the fact that the tree fell. Similarly, if we live a life without posting every single moment of it on social media, are we really living? If there is no (public) proof, how can you demonstrate you are doing the things you do?

There are so many artificial “lives” floating online these days that we are called to distinguish between what is true and what is not. People nowadays feel the urge to gloat, to advertise, and to boast every single – usually happy – moment they experience. But how can you really engage in that moment when you are so busy taking photos, filtering and editing it, coming up with the appropriate hashtags, and picking your brain for the best comment to accompany it with, and then striving to find a proper internet connection in order to upload it to all your followers who in your mind are waiting at the edge of their seats to find out what you’re doing? Does this seem like a life you are enjoying to the fullest?

What about all those people who lived before social media (yes, life did exist before the advent of the Internet)? What about all those Roman emperors and Greek philosophers? We don’t even have a picture of them, yet we know they lived and they accomplished greatness. Are our lives evolving towards pettiness? Towards being so superficial that it matters more to publicize that we are doing something than to actually do it? And what does this say of people themselves?

We are supposed to evolve so that we make our ancestors proud. Instead, the way we are progressing, we will only make our descendants ashamed (provided that they don’t turn out to be even worse).

A different kind of crisis

Getting snowed in on a day when your to-do list is over-piling, that may be considered a crisis. Dripping donut jam on your clean shirt the minute you step out of the baker’s just two steps away from your office, that may too be considered a crisis. Losing money at a casino fun night, is well maybe not so much of a crisis (unless it is all your savings). We all face different crises in our lives and we all view them differently.

The third-world crisis of lacking food, clean water and a home is far more severe than the first-world crisis of not having matching shoes for a new outfit worth hundreds of dollars. It is all a matter of perspective. But perhaps, with just a couple of weeks before another year passes, we can take a second and rethink…everything.

The holiday season is one to rejoice, one to spread the love and show you care. But it is also one in which you are silently prodded to make amends, first and foremost with yourself.

The most intense period of crisis one can face is when this joyous season coincides with their birthday. That is when a crisis certainly hits. Because you begin to feel all the more intense about the fact of adding yet another year to those that have past, of becoming so many more years young (because you try and avoid the word “old”). You may finally believe the compliment that you are like wine, it only gets better with age. But deep down you do feel the melancholy strike, because there are very few people who achieve exactly what they want at the precise time in which they so desire. It is hard feeling incomplete. As though you are nowhere near where you’ve dreamt to be. And it is all the more difficult when you know that another birthday is rapidly approaching, signifying that time is still flying and there is nothing you can do.

Apart from one thing.

Continue to dream. Change what you can, and leave aside what you can’t. Rejoice in the warmth of the season and learn to appreciate the good of what you have. Maybe next year things will finally come your way. But, however it may be, you’ve already come a long way. You’re still standing and that it is the most important of it all.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Getting Seasonal

It’s all in the #Santa_hat

Terrified by what he just saw before him Scrooge tweeted Things have to #change!

He closed his money lists, opened a web browser and furiously began typing away.

It was almost sunrise when his battery finally ran out and he managed to fall asleep, with those frightful images still hovering in his head.

The next day a new Scrooge had awoken.

@EbScrooge: New day! #Merry_Christmas everyone! #Joy, #Happiness, #Xmas

Even the tweeting ghosts were surprised by this extraordinary change.

Dressed in a Santa hat and with a bag full of gifts he rushed over to Bob’s house.

Bob was shocked to see him. He didn’t know whether to be happy or scared! Was he expecting him to work today? And why on earth was he wearing a Santa hat?

@BCratchit: #Scrooge here. Why? #confused

“Merry Christmas!” exclaimed Scrooge as he walked in ringing a jingle bell in his hand. The children excitedly ran up to him, as he opened the bag and let them explore the toys and gifts he had brought them.

@MrsCratchit: @BCratchit #Scrooge brought delicious roast turkey!! #thankful #Christmas_miracle

@BCratchit: #Medical_treatment for @Tiny_Tim! & I just got a raise!! Thanks @EbScrooge! #jingle_bells

@Tiny_Tim: There is a #Santa!

 

 

Some other Christmas “ghost” writers can be found here.

A signal to change

“WTF is going on tonight?” wondered Scrooge as he re-opened his laptop screen.

@GhXmasFuture: @EbScrooge your #future is #bleak. Beware!

“This is just getting ridiculous. What does a man have to do to get some peace and quiet?”

@GhXmasFuture: @EbScrooge you’ll get plenty of peace and quiet soon enough…#death #alone

Scrooge shivered from top to bottom as he read this tweet. This was certainly not something you wanted to read on a late cold night. Especially in a dark house like his.

Determined to stop this “nonsense” he closed the Twitter application. Now the mind-reading ghosts would not bother him again. And he could concentrate on his work.

But as he maximized his financial lists and got to counting again, his entire computer screen blacked-out. Slowly an image began to form.  A poor home in which Bob’s family was still mourning over the loss of their young son.  Then, his own home deserted and abandoned. With a graffiti sign out front stating with red letters “good riddance fat pig”. And finally, a tombstone in a forsaken graveyard with his name clearly marked out: “Eb. Scrooge, lived a miser and died alone” with a hand-written “at last” inserted next to it.

Some other Christmas “ghost” writers can be found here.

Ice inside and out

Scrooge felt a chill running down his back.

The wind was howling outside and suddenly the window flung open. Expecting to see a ghost (perhaps the one that was tweeting him), Scrooge got up trembling to close it.

Returning to his computer – the battery was still at 85% – he scrolled down his money lists. He still had to calculate the month’s earnings.

Bling!

@GhXmasPresent: @EBScrooge, beware of what is to come! #Greed_breeds_fear

@EBScrooge: @GhXmasPresent, you’re too #late, other #ghost already here. #Shoo, #go_away

At the sound of the next bling, announcing yet another tweet, Scrooge began to grumble. He had already lost count five times, and these calculations weren’t easy. And he had to finish before the battery ran out!

@GhXmasPresent: @EBScrooge, #financial_crisis deeply struck #those_in_need. @BCratchit is a #good_man. You are #heartless.

@EBScrooge: @BCratchit you already have the day off. What else do you want? #greedy #never_enough

@GhXmasPresent: @EBScrooge: You are the #greedy one. People are #hungry, #poor and #cold & you don’t care. #No_festive_spirit

Scrooge was getting irritated. What kind of somber prank was this?

@EBScrooge: @GhXmasPresent: Bah #Humbug!

And with that he slammed the screen shut. Perhaps a moment in silence would end this farce.

Bling!

 

Some other Christmas “ghost” writers can be found here.

 

A ghostly visit

Having half-heartedly let Cratchit off for the next day – Christmas they called it – Scrooge returned home. It was so cold (heaters cost money) and dark (so does electricity). He lit his LED-battery-run torch and went upstairs to his bedroom.

On days like this he missed his colleague Jacob Marley who had died a year ago, for he was the only one who truly understood Scrooge’s need to work. Constantly.

He made himself comfortable on the sofa with his laptop on his knees.

With the lighting of the screen he heard a bling…

@GhXmasPast tweeted: @EBScrooge, remember the #times that were.

#Halloween is over!” replied @EBScrooge and minimized the browser.

But the ghostly tweet continued. #Christmas is for #families and #happiness. You #forgot too soon.

Scrooge chose to ignore it, certain that it was some kind of prank.

But then his whole computer screen froze, as if someone had achieved remote access, and all of a sudden an image appeared – an old house and children inside laughing around a Christmas tree, with the warmth of a fire crackling. With presents like choo-choo-trains and dolls laying open on the floor.

@GhXmasPast: #Childhood #innocence lost. #Greed for #money has become your torture.

 

 

Other Christmas “ghost” writers can be found here.

#Scrooge arrives

Bob Cratchit was already at his desk by sunrise. He was furiously typing away at his old-run-down-PC, when Ebenezer Scrooge walked in. Just the sound of the door creaking at his entry – Scrooge never agreed to spend a few dimes to oil it – made Cratchit spring upright in his chair. Scrooge rushed in, his face fixed upon his 5 inch smartphone screen and into his office. Cratchit had stopped wishing him a goodmorning, for it never was, and he never got a reply anyway.

#Scrooge just in. Darn morning again, tweeted @BCratchit stealing a moment from his piled up workload.

Scrooge was always buried in a screen, be it his smartphone, his tablet, or his computer, he barely looked to see where he was going. And for a person so wired up, he was hardly sociable. He disliked anything to do with holidays. For him work was his life.

But it was already Christmas Eve and Bob wanted to go home, to his family and friends and celebrate.

@BCratchit: Stop #Tweeting and #work. Otherwise no leave for #Dec25. Bah #Humbug! replied @EbScrooge, surprising Bob who delved back into his screen without seeing the next tweet:

@JMarley: #Scrooge up for #surprise.

 

Other Christmas “ghost” writers are:
Tom over at Shouts from the Abyss
Steve from Stevil
Dylan of Treatment of Visions
Sarah from Parent Your Business
Dawn blogging at Lingering  Visions
K8edid from k8edid
Dave bringing it at 1pointperspective
Eileen from Not The Sword But The Pen
Lindsey at RewindRevise
Kandy of Kandy Talk
Sandra writing at In Love With Words
Natalie from So I Went Undercover
Jen at Blog It or Lose It
Amelie from In the Barberry
Cee Cee blogging at Cee Cee’s Blog
Ashley from LittleWonder2
BD writing Blogdramedy

Christmas Carol-ing

Christmas is only 9 days away! (So is my birthday for that matter, just so you know!) And if you’re really eager to countdown there is a way right here!

In order to get you all into the spirit of Christmas, however, Blogdramedy has conjured up yet another festive challenge. Entitled “A Christmas Carol”, BlogFestivus 2013 promises to revive your memory on what Dickens’ famous story was about, set in 2013. Be prepared for something novel and different!

So bring your eggnogs (or tea) along and enjoy the serial story I am preparing this year, starting with Ebenezer Scrooge, leading on to the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, and ending with Tiny Tim!

It’s only five days, of 200 words each!

So join in the fun and be jolly this season!