Young Writers Society

Christmas Found
I was woken by a tap on our window, causing my heart to thud briefly, but only by reflex. Noises at night may have scared me once, but now I know that it's just Lacey, it's always Lacey. I fumble under my pillow for the torch and point it at the window, the fog disperses as if it's allergic to light. There's Lacey's beaming face, her finger pointing at the latch.

"You're gonna get my whole family sent away." I open the window, ans the smell of factory smoke wafts inside. "Did anyone see you?"

"Yep," she says cheerfully, clambering into the room, "a policeman actually." I feel pure fear at that moment, though I can breathe again when she continues. "But he was on his way to a you-know-what, so it's not like he's gonna say anything."

"You've got to stop doing this, Lacey." I close the window and flick off the torch. My mother stirs in her bed but doesn't wake; my family would sleep through a nuclear attack if they were tired. "Whatever it is, can't it wait till first shift?"

"Absolutely not. We need complete privacy for this." She crosses her legs on the bed and pulls a book from her coat.

"You grandmother's diary?" She nods, fingering the spotted leather. She was given it a year ago, when the old woman was on her death bed. Lacey's been studying it in her free time ever since.

"I was flipping through it, and I found something pretty cool on the twenty-fifth of December."

"That's today," I state, glancing at our shift schedule tacked on the wall.

She settles the diary comfortably in her lap. "Today used to be a work-free day." I chuckle, my parents remember having three work-frees, now we only get one each year. I settle down next to Lacey, curious to hear about this forgotten holiday. "It was called Christmas." The word rolls of her tongue. "This is what Grandma wrote:

Dear Diary,

Today was Christmas, and after the second shift we were allowed to go home for the rest of the day. Billy and I had to wait an extra half-hour for mum to come home because she went to the food-store. Everyone got a big meal as a Christmas gift from the rulers, it was really yummy. There was ham and potato and leeks all plaited together.

My favourite part of the day was playing games. This was my first year working, and I'd almost forgotten what it was like to play. Mum did forget, Billy had to explain all the rules of hide-and-seek. The fog made it easy to hide outside. Mum says she remembers when she was little, and the fog was just a 'sleeping cloud' not factory fumes. I'll have to ask her what that means, I'll get back to you on that.

After games we gave each other Christmas presents. I got a hair pin with a flower on it and Billy got a round glass ball called a marble. Billy and I had searched the stores for something nice for mum, and we found an old photo. We don't know who it is but the people in it look very happy and we thought it would remind her of dad. We had to work an extra shift for it, but it was worth it because she cried of joy and hugged us.

After that we went to bed, and that's where I am now. But I should probably turn off the light. Goodnight, Diary."

Lacey and I stare at each other for a moment. It just seems so absurd, having a day to play games, and getting free food from the rulers, and giving things to people for no real reason. It sounds fun, I can't argue, but very inefficient. "I can see why they stopped Christmas," I say.

"Don't be like that!" She shuts the diary and a cloud of dust appears around it. "Today is Christmas, and I think we should celebrate it!" I watch her tenderly as she pulls something else from her coat pocket. "This is my gift for you."

"A safety pin?" I take the novelty from her open palm. "What do I do with it?"

"Well, if you find something nice, you can pin it to your clothes." She rocks back and forth, expectant. "You've got to give me something now."

"Oh." I lift up my pillow, not wanting to disappoint my only friend, and survey my pile of belongings. I can't decide on whether to give her a blue button or a business card with a picture of the sun on it. Lacey seems to like old things, so I settle on the card, seeing as the sun is no longer visible.

"Thank you," she beams and hugs me. Upon pulling apart, she jumps off the bed just a little too loud so that my mum stirs in bed again. "Now we play a game."

"But we need to sleep before first shift!"

She takes my hand and pulls me onto the carpet. "Shut up, it's Christmas!"

The children thought it was raining Christmas dinner, and it was, except Santa wasn't throwing down goodies from his sleigh, the plane hatch had just been left open.

This isn't related to Christmas. Get over it.

One day Anna woke up and felt a lump on her head. It wasn't a bump or a pimple or any normal sort of lump, the lump on her head was actually Anna's twin. No, it wasn't a fragment of a fetus, this lump contained a tiny replica of Anna!
She ignored it well enough, until the little twin started whispering things into her ear. Then, it started saying things in her mind, just little suggestions. Then. it kept nagging and nagging until Anna wasn't sure if her thoughts were her own or her twin's. Eventually, the lump began to take over her mind, so that at times Anna could not control her own body!
One day Anna became so frightened of her twin that she went to the bathroom, found her father's shaving blade, and cut off the lump! It fell to the floor, and blood dripped down Anna's face. She was about to lean down and put the lump in the bin when it started to grow. It didn't expand, it EXPLODED into a full grown version of Anna. It was her exact twin now.
Anna held out the blade in defence, but the twin took advantage of the injury on her head, which was making Anna dizzy. The twin grabbed her, and hauled her into the basement, where it locked Anna inside.
With the original out of the way, the twin was free to become Anna, and take over her life. Not even her parents knew that their true daughter was actually rotting in the basement.
The end.

"I wonder what we're going to to for the rest of the day," I watched my brother, Billy, pick his nose with a coal-black finger. Giggling, I thought of him spending the remaining hours of daylight with a finger up his nostril.

"Mummy's gonna have lots of fun stuff for us to do." He wiped his hand on his trousers, which were going to have to be washed, again. He waved to some of the other children as they ran past us, eager to get home. "Maybe our friends will come over too."

"No one's coming over, Billy." I jumped out of the path of a policeman, who didn't seem like he was going to move for a wee child. Still, he tilted his hat at us, though I ignored that. "They'll all be spending time with their families, like we're going to do."

"I wish daddy was here to spend time with us." My brother sighed, resuming his nose-picking.

I patted my chest, feeling the stiff piece of paper in my coat pocket. It was a photograph we'd found in the stores, of a young couple leaning against their car in the sunset. To our grandparents, the scene in the photo would be a memory, but to us, it was an unimaginable history. Still, we thought mum would like it to remind her of dad, who had died three years ago in a work accident.

"We can go visit his grave in the evening, if you'd like."

Billy shook his head. "Nah, we'll be too busy playing Christmas games!" His spirit wasn't dampened, despite mentioning our loss only seconds ago.

"Well, I wouldn't only call them Christmas games, we'll play them on New Years too!" As I spoke, we turned the corner into our home street, a row of two-story buildings shoved one against the other so that there was no where to go but up and down. The rows of houses would have resembled rainbows in some distant past, but now the paint was faded and splotched with dirt, so they looked more like child's vomit. Attempts had been made to make the street look merry, though, we couldn't help but grin at the wreathes of plants and the odd lights flashing on and off.

When we unlocked the door to our apartment, Billy burst inside shouting for a moment. I felt a moment of panic when we concluded that she wasn't here, but found a piece of note paper on our table.

"She bringing home a fleez... feat... feast!" My brother successfully read the foreign word, which was rarely used in our community. Goosebumps burst from my skin, the excitement of a large, warm meal overtaking me.

I pulled the photo from my coat and handed to Billy. "You can use the note paper to wrap it up, go on." He took it eagerly, scavenged in the cupboards for some string, and then sat on the floor, contentedly singing songs. I didn't know what songs they were, maybe something he'd been taught at school, but joined in all the same, humming along to the tune.

I sat on the rotten park bench, staring at the dark blue ocean just twenty metres in front of me. Directly in front of me, though, was the car park. Cracked bitumen, moss pushing from the earth, and old twenty first century cars created a nostalgic vibe, flooding my mind with thoughts of freedom, remembering the stories my mother told me about life before the election.
All that had happened, though, all that was happening, didn't bother the couple. They leant against the red station wagon, the paint splotchy where the salty air had touched it. The couple had been here before, many times, but the way they turned their heads inwards, cheeks pressed together as the sun set, indicated that the beautiful colours in the sky never bored them.
"Hey, could you take a photo for us, please?" The woman stepped forward momentarily, holding out a hand-held camera to me.I accepted the metal device and positioned myself back in the chair, where both the sun and the couple would fill the frame. I closed my eyes, opened, and the sky grew a deeper orange with each blink.
"Smile," I said, and pressed the button.

Posted from the past because I was quite busy on this day.

It is a little known fact that birds celebrate Christmas too. How could they not? We leave so many splendid presents out for them. Strands of tinsel, odd ribbons and ornament strings get left on the ground. Shiny bottle caps, metal ties and packaging pieces miss the bin by inches. And sometimes, a little girl will pluck her hair ribbon and place it in a tree, whispering holiday greetings to any birds who may be listening. Or a little boy will create a bird box with his new tool set, and leave it as a gift for the birds. Always remember that birds celebrate Christmas too; go sneak a peak at a nest on Boxing Day, you'll see it decorated with tinsel and ribbons and shiny things.

John Watson pushed the black stroller down Baker Street, the baby giggling every time they hit a bump in the path.
"John, what a surprise!" The landlady cheerfully opened the door, and John wished her a Merry Christmas as he pushed past, eager to get upstairs to his old apartment.
"Sherlock!" He banged on the door, the baby copying the action, giggles ringing through the hall.
John heard a deep voice mutter something, and then the detective stood before the stroller, staring down at the young human before him. "I thought I heard an infant," he stated.
"You invited us for Christmas brunch," John said, "is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Sherlock stepped aside so they could walk in. "Why would anything be wrong?"
John took his usual seat, resting the pink bundle of giggles on his knee. "I didn't know you did brunch."
"Yes, well..." Sherlock walked over to the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Mrs Hudson had put it up, she'd said that it was her building and everyone had to have a tree. "I wanted to exchange gifts."
"Gifts?" John leaned forward, completely taken by surprise when Sherlock handed his daughter a small package, hastily wrapped in newspaper.
"Ta!" The little girl smiled at her godfather, and John stared at his friend in disbelief. Was that a smile on Sherlock's face?
The young Watson used her tiny hands to unfold the newspaper, and then held up a metal stick for the two men to see.
"A lock pick?" John asked, examining the gift.
"I thought it best she learn how to use it," he gently took the tool from the baby's hands. "Children are getting kidnapped all the time nowadays."
"Sherlock, she's one."
"When I was one I could read," Sherlock handed back the lock pick and then picked up the little girl. She didn't struggle, and sat happily in his arms. "I will begin teaching her straight away."