This is part three of a three part series, start with Christmas Day, part one.
Jamie was sat up in his bed staring at the door. He couldn’t believe it.
He had spent the past twenty minutes crying into his pillow. His beloved Santa was gone. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. They must be lying; he’d seen him at the shopping centre last year. He’d told Santa that he wanted a bike and that’s what Santa had given him. Is he supposed to believe his parents had done that?
This is part two of a three part series, start with Christmas Day, part one.
Carol quietly closed the door behind her and took a deep breath. She was wondering whether she’d done the right thing; he seemed really disappointed and she didn’t like doing that to him. She walked as quietly as she could back to her bedroom.
Jamie was sat up in his bed staring at the door. He couldn’t believe it.
It was 4am on Christmas morning and he’d been woken up by the sounds of someone opening his door. He had opened his eyes only to catch a glimpse of his Mum leaving his stocking at the end of his bed.
His Mum!
Where was Santa? Was he okay? Did he need help? Were the reindeer safe? That’s when he had sat up and asked his Mum what was going on.
Words on a page
Seem so strange.
I only wrote them yesterday
They do not feel like mine today.
Staring at a blank page
The words just fail to come
Emptiness stares right back at me
Expectantly.
The truth seemed so clear
When I sat down to write
But I can’t find the words
Frustratingly.
How does clarity turn cloudy
So quickly and so often
True meaning lost in transcription
Disappointingly.
Thoughts to words
Mind to paper
Essence to vapour
Regrettably.
The clarity remembered
The message lost
Everything becomes less clear
Painfully.