Xmas Writing Challenge

[stephen.samuels]

give me the opening of a fantasy xmas tale. Nothing too long. You can if you wish, offer a line or two and someone can add on to it.

 

[The Judge]

Hi Stephen

I'm not entirely sure if you're looking for a collaborative thing, or you're just wanting to write a story on your own. Anyway, Writing Challenges is strictly for the 75 and 300 worders, so I'll move this over to Workshop, which is more suited to collaborative exercises at least.

 

[stephen.samuels]

Hi Judge

I think that maybe best.

thanks

 

[BenSt]

May I start? I have a little bit of time on my hands:

The snow had been falling all day and all night and lay thick on the roofs and in the streets. Despite the village seemingly quiet, behind the closed doors of the cottages and the Inn preparations were well underway, with many neighbours visiting and assisting other members of the community. In the little cottage of Mrs. Hunberly, several older ladies were gossiping away while stuffing mincemeat into pies and putting together the special christmas mix for pasties. In the workshop of Mr. Oberle, the woodworker, a group of the older men were busy carving and assembling toys and gifts for the children. In the Church, the Vicar and his wife were joined by Mrs. Lennox, Mrs. Ancastor, and the teachers of the school to clean and decorate. In other cottages, sons and daughters assisted mothers and fathers with all manner of different tasks, all ready for the gathering that would take place later that day that would start the festive season. A group of the younger men and women creeped out of their homes and assembled in the village square, dressed in their warmest coats and mittens, caps and scarves. It was their job to go into the woods and bring back the tree that would be decorated by the whole community, and light the main commonroom in the Inn until the new year.

However, not all the villagers were busy on this day.

 

[TitaniumTi]

Ben Ancaster never aspired to be busy, and his determination perfectly matched his lack of ambition. He had gathered up his book on the new physics, together with sundry other items for his amusement, a supply of small puddings filched from his aunt's parlour and the old great-coat hanging behind the mushroom door, and taken refuge in the woodsman's hut on the hill behind the vicarage. From there, he had an excellent view in all directions but one.

Old Mrs Carling did aspire to be busy, but all her attempts were foiled by solicitous grand-children. John Lennox caught her winding tinsel around the curtain rail, and promptly confiscated the stool on which she was precariously perched. Jill Carling ushered her from the kitchen, rescuing the Christmas cake just before it was offered to the cocker spaniels. Even her attempts to wrap a present for Emma were interrupted by Mary Lennox, who suggested that a sixteen year old girl was likely to be more insulted than delighted by gift of ointment for rheumatism.

So old Mrs Carling picked up her cane and set out for a walk.

 

[jastius]

mrs Carling fumed as she set out for the oak on the hill for some mistletoe and holly, armed with her knitting bag and garden shears. If young John hadn't borrowed her step ladder to get up into the attic for the lights and never returned it, she would have never had to rely upon the old kitchen step stool to get up the metal extension for the digital antenna. Oh, dear, and she had wanted to see the queen's speech, but they never had good reception up here.

And taking away poor Emma's gift! After Mary had enrolled her in all those dance classes and gymnastics courses, the poor little thing was tight as knots constantly. After Mrs. Carling had found her great-granddaughter limping from the constant practices, she had massaged the cramped calves with her muscle ointment. Emma had been delighted and made her promise to give her some of the ointment.

Mrs Carling smiled wickedly. If plump Jill really wanted the treats she had purchased for the cocker spaniels at the dog bakery for her own tea, then she was welcome to them. Slashing snow from a bush with her cane, her chortle set a covey of quail to flight. Such good hunting, she mused. Her dear Arthur would have soon organised a shoot. Possibly she could sneak out her fowling piece for her next walk. Perhaps fresh quail would even satisfy Jill's pretensions.

 

[BenSt]

Meanwhile, Ben who had by now scarfed down the majority of the cakes he had taken, began to grow restless. He stared down at the rest of the village, now beginning to bustle with a few people moving from house to house carrying boxes and supplies. The snow was still lightly drifting down and the peace of his home could not be denied... but he hated it. He hated every moment living in this quiet little niche in the woods. His old Grandfather used to entertain him with stories of the city, a distant place that was alive at all hours. Libraries and museums, drinking taverns brothels populated the stories he was told. He would watch the merchants come in from other villages and some from the city and wonder what the world was like outside this small-minded little village. The book he had brought with him was from such a library, he imagined, filled with ideas both complex and interesting...so far beyond the supersticious scope of the villagefolk.

Yet, despite his little hide away from all the work he knew he was expected to take part on, he was now bored. He watched as the great tree was being hauled in by the first sons and daughters, ready to be erected inside the village hall. "What a terrible choice!" he said, to no one in particular. Despite his lack of motivation, he maimtained his right to be opinionated.