Who steals on Christmas morning?
Taken, my pair of old skis and a battered snowboard with a broken binding.
Stranger still, my new skis rest in the rack.
Two sets of footprints run to my house. One half the size of the other.
The tracks of a skier and snowboarder lead away.
After putting my boots and skis on, I slide off the veranda. Soft powder compresses beneath me.
Who steals after a fresh dump?
Past a lonely tree, the tracks split. The winding path of the snowboarder leads downhill. The skier had cut across towards Pete’s. Maybe Pete saw something. I continue my pursuit.
A flock of geese fly over me, as white as the snow aside from their pink beaks and black wing tips.
Gaudy Christmas lights greet me. Hundreds of the damn things. An obligatory carrot protrudes from a snowman’s face. A crimson scarf encircles its neck.
Christmas was Martha’s thing. I bring my thumb in to feel the wedding band under my glove.
My old skis stand in Pete’s rack. I pound on his door.
He opens it with a smile. “Merry Christmas, Bert. Please, come in.”
“You stole my skis.”
“Borrowed.” He scratched the back of his head. “We tried knocking. You didn’t answer. I couldn’t bear to see you spend another Christmas by yourself. So, I got creative.”
“Where’s the board? That belonged to my son.”
“My daughter’s taken it for a spin.”
“She’s what?”
“I’m pulling your leg.” Pete swatted the air. “She’s taken it to Fred’s.”
“With a broken binding?”
“Fred will have a spare.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of black cable ties. “These did the job. Now, come in.”
The savoury aroma of Christmas turkey wafted out of the doorway.
Afterword
The mission—set by Fiction Writers Group (FWG)—was to write a 300-word flash fiction piece based on the photo above.
Initially, my mind went towards a fantasy story featuring serpents (just look at the twisting tracks). But, that was forcing the image too much. Working with the picture, layer after layer, the above story emerged.
Aside: I’m not a Christmas Grinch, I promise. My main character, Bert, is still getting over the loss of his wife, Martha, and she absolutely adored Christmas. Did you pick up on that? (It was subtle.)
When you look at the image, what comes to your mind?