This is the first Christmas story I think I have ever written. If I do the Christmas Contest this will be a background story for my entry. It is also the first time I have written in a younger POV. My MC is 8 I don't know if it sounds like it though, it seemed a little jumpy to me. Please comment on it.
~peanut~
We are going to freeze. I am sure of it. But Holt glares at me and pulls me along the path through the woods. I can feel my gloved hands slipping through his fingers. He wants me to follow me, it’s important he says. I have to follow him.
“Are we there yet?” I complain I can hear the tone of my voice get higher.
“Stop whining, I’m doing this for you.” He pulls me along through the trees.
“Sorry, Mom, I didn’t know you were going to let me freeze to death this Christmas, it’s such an honor.” I am not whining, it's just sarcasm now.
Holt doesn’t say anything but I think he might have laughed. He doesn’t turn around, so I can’t see his face. The branches pull at my jeans and the knitting of my scarf. Snow on the ground melts against my boots and seeps into my socks. I want to go home. I want him to lead me back to the warmth that is almost calling to me but he won’t so I don’t ask.
“Just a little farther, El,” I watch my feet as we walk making sure I don’t step on his shoes. I don’t look up when he talks; I just stare at the tracks he is making in the snow. I fight the urge to step in his footprints. I have a feeling he wouldn’t like it.
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We have never done anything like this before. Christmas used to always be at home, until Mommy died last year and Dad stopped celebrating. Holt is the closest thing to Dad I have this year, since Dad’s not paying attention to us and isn’t going to let us have Christmas.
Holt tried to explain it to me but I think it’s stupid. I was seven when Mommy died and now I’m eight—it’s been a whole year but Dad is still sad about it.
He says that the man that killed Mommy is still out there and Dad is trying to find him. He says that Christmas can’t be the same this year because Dad is going to find the man this year, he is going to make him go to jail and Dad thinks that will be our present.
But I don’t want to see him in jail, I don’t really care. I just want to be happy and together. I want presents but Holt says it’s not anything that he can change. But Holt has told me that this will be my present, he has something in the woods that he wants to show me.
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“We’re here,” my brother says. We are standing behind a wall of bushes that is blocking us from the other side. I wait for him to tell me what this is supposed to be, but this isn’t what he wants me to see. “Close your eyes.” He whispers, I look up at him trying to figure out what he is doing. He just nods at me, so I guess he isn’t going to answer my silent question; he didn’t hear it.
I shut my eyes and can only see black. He thinks I am peeking, he moves his hand in front of my eyes making sure I can’t see it; I can feel the cold air hitting my face. It moves my eyelashes but I don’t move.
Holt grabs my hands and I try not to open my eyes when my glove slips the cold air hitting my skin. He tries to fix it but it doesn’t work.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, wanting to look up at him, to open my eyes, but I don’t; I want it to be a surprise.
I think there is an opening in the wall because his is walking straight and we don’t stop. I can hear a tree move; I think we are almost there. I can feel his grip get looser on my hand until I am standing on my own.
“Okay, open your eyes,” Holt says excitedly. I open my eyes quickly and take in my surprise. It is beautiful.
Green and orange lights are wrapped around a tree. The lights blurring in the snow, it is like nothing I have ever seen before. The spheres of lights sprinkled with ornaments that I thought were in a box. They were tucked away in the attic where Dad put them after Mommy died.
“Do you like it?” He asks leading me toward the Christmas tree. There are presents under it; I didn’t notice them before. “Those are for you.” Holt tells me kneeling down in the snow picking up two big boxes. I sit down in the snow; I don’t care if it’s cold. He hands me a box, the bigger of the two and watches as I try to open it. My fingers can’t get a grip on the paper so I lay the box in my lap and take off my gloves.
I throw the striped gloves onto the snow that covers the grass. Then I pick the box back up. My fingers tear at the paper and toss it to the ground, the blue snowmen paper lying on the white. There is a blanket under all of the wrapping.
When I touch the fabric memories come back to me. My mother sitting by the fireplace sewing until her fingers hurt me searching for the thread that she would carefully poke through the circle at the end of her needle. The one I wasn’t allowed to touch because it was dangerous but that my mom loved because it let her create her art.
“I got Molly to finish it for you,” Holt says quietly. Then he reaches for the other box. It is much smaller. It fits easily in my medium sized hand. There is a purple ribbon around the white cardboard. I slide the ribbon off the side, not even untying it and open the lid.
“It’s Mommy’s ring,” I whisper. Holt nods and motions for me to hand him the box. I watch as the sun sparkles through the blue and silver diamonds. It is in the shape of a snowflake, blue center. It was my mom’s favorite necklace, it reminded her of Christmas.
Holt takes it out of the box. It is on a silver chain that I didn’t notice before. He holds it up and unhooks the clasp. He puts it around my neck and I gasp when the metal touches my skin. It is as cold as the snowflake that dangles from the chain.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper leaning against him holding the blanket to my heart.
“Merry Christmas, Noel.” He whispers.
Oh, and you could replace your comma with a semi-colon and add in a comma after 'important'.
. So I'll edit it.