Last year, over in JAVG, we asked you to bring Charles Dickens's Christmas Carol into the world of gaming. This year, we're bringing our holiday writing contest into JABC, where it belongs, and taking the bumpers off: it's a free-form flash-fan fiction festival!
Ahem. We'd like you to share a piece of creative writing that's suited to, inspired by, or otherwise themed around the winter. That's it. It can be Christmassy and wholesome, or wintry and snowy, or, really, anything else as long as its connection to the time of year is clear. Feel free to include images, and note there's a minimum word count of 500, but please don't exceed 1,500 words; if your story is much longer than that, it may be disqualified regardless of quality.
If that sounds too short, remember our flash-fiction writing advice: Often, aspiring authors of flash fiction fall down by trying to write an entire story, complete with beginning, middle, and end. Flash fiction doesn't need to do that, and is usually better when it doesn't. You can leave questions unanswered, mysteries unsolved, and readers wanting more. Sometimes, it can even be a single scene!
Important note: this is a time-limited, podium-finish reward that will only close and its submissions be judged on Tuesday, January 7.
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This reward closed to entries at 5:02pm on January 7, 2025 but you can still reply, react, and join the conversation below! If you’d like to enter other rewards which are still open, click here.
Here's a Christmas cliché. I told this story to my niece and she loved it. To remind everyone of the love and hope that must be reborn in us. Not just at this time of year, but every day.
Christmas miracles
It was December, and the village where Anne lived was full of lights flashing around the town, reflected in the white blanket formed by the freshly fallen snow, plus the sound of bells and Christmas music echoing around the square. It was a festive atmosphere and the town was bustling with preparations for the big celebration.
But the house where Anne lived seemed to be quieter than the rest of the village, ever since her father fell ill and could no longer work as a carpenter. Money was tight and Christmas would be simple, with no big suppers or presents. But even so, Anne, an 11-year-old girl, carried joy and hope in her heart, knowing that Christmas was about much more than material goods, but about love and miracles.
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Anne was walking through the village, illuminated by a shy sun, when she met a little street dog, who played with her and shared his snack with her. At that moment, Anne came across an old man sitting on a bench in the square, with a long white beard and a serene expression on his face. She said “Hello”, shyly, and with a calm look and a warm smile, the man replied “Hello, little one. Why are you alone on Christmas Eve?” Anne then approached the man and told him about her father's state of health and how their house seemed sad while the whole village seemed full of joy.
The man listened attentively and, when she had finished, he said, “Trust in the spirit of Christmas, little one. Often the greatest joys come from the smallest gestures. Like I just saw you sharing your bread with that little dog. That's what Christmas is all about.”
The man stood up, wished her a Merry Christmas and disappeared into the snow, as if he had never been there.
That evening, while Anne and her mother were putting wood on the fire and preparing for the modest supper, they heard a knock on the door. When they opened the door, they found a small bag left in front of the house, and inside it were fluffy rolls, fresh fruit, a bottle of wine and something that looked like a present.
When she opened the package and untied the delicate red bow that covered it, Anne found a beautiful doll that she had seen on the street, but money was tight. Next to the present, there was a message written “To the little one and her family, may they never lose faith.”
Tears and smiles broke out on the faces of Anne's mother and father that night.
The next morning, everyone in the village was talking about the little miracles that had taken place during the night. The families who needed it most were given food and toys, but no one knew who was responsible. Many talked about a man with a white beard who walked through the snow but disappeared without a trace.
Anne never met that man again in the village, but that doll took up a special place in her home and in her heart. For her and for everyone, it was a reminder that Christmas is not about what we have, but about what we give.
And every year, when the snow fell on that village, that girl smiled and remembered that small miracles continued to happen for those who believed.
So, I wrote something but it's only touching snow at the very end, it's bloody and it's too long. I wrote something about Christmas' Eve but let's say Just About is not the place to share it. I wrote something about skiing and something about relathionships but no. I wrote something sci-fi with snow but it was too short... or maybe not?
Soundtrack: 2 8 1 4 - Rain Temple
Snow flitted down from the steel grey sky high above.
It reflected the lights and neons of the sprawl. The same lights that painted the clouds above.
It bounced between steel, glass and plastic as it went down, slipping in between the tall skyscrapers.
It floated on the warm updrafts that moved up from the lower levels, from the exhausts and the air exchange vents.
It slowly sat down on the stained concrete and the dark asphalt, on the plexiglass and composites of vehicles, on the stands selling this or that, on the tarps hang between narrow alleys, on the cardboards of the despondent.
It sat in silence, slowly darkening at the contact with the stains of the world, slowly melting as it absorbed the warmth of civilization.
People walked hurriedly in the streets, hiding under jackets and umbrellas, the snow an inconvenience at worst, just a weather event at best.
Gone was the fascination of it.
Gone were the days when snow was seen as a beautiful moment, shrouding the world in cold fluff.
Gone were the days when children played with it.
Gone were the days when snow meant a hot brew and a cozy book.
Snow was now something negligible in the greater movement of civilization. Barely acknowledged, barely accounted for.
Inconsequential.
And yet, she looked up at the sky, her dark eyes tracking the small crystals as they fell toward her. She stood there, in an empty park. Not a real park, more like a recreation of what used to be a park, nested in between buildings, decaying in silence.
Nobody was around, nobody had the time to dwell and stand in the cold and wet, didn’t they? But she did, she didn’t have to rush to work, she didn’t have to rush anywhere in fact. Did that make her free? Not really.
But the snow didn’t really care about civilization’s problems, qualms and beliefs. It just fell when the humidity, temperature and winds were right. It was a purely mechanical process, no emotions, no expectations.
She kept looking up, in some way mesmerized by these little ice crystals flitting down the sky. So small, so beautiful in their own unique way. A beauty long lost to utilitarianism and economic interests in a civilization that sought money above everything else.
A small snow crystal sat down on the palm of her hand, it lasted a breath, just the time to take stock of it, that it melted. Her hands felt increasingly cold and yet, they were still warm enough to melt the snow, to turn it into a water drop.
Her breath puffed in the air as she exhaled.
The moment felt peaceful.
The sprawl, with all its noises and crowds, sounded far away. Not even there.
She inhaled the cold air.
Even the scents of the sprawl felt dulled, cleaner.
The snow still had the powers of old, they had just been forgotten by men in their pursuits for more.
She sighed, her head falling down, looking back down at the dirtying snow and the cracked concrete peeking through. For all the power the snow could still have, it wouldn’t really save her. That was the hard, inescapable truth.
She shrugged, and turned, heading out of the park, back to sprawl. Back to its crowds and its scents. Back to its dirt. Back to a life she couldn’t escape. Back to the rough reality.
A gust of wind made the falling snow twirl, some of those flakes following in her wake. It was as if the spirit of snow, if something like that could exist, sighed watching her leave, with her head down, beaten and hopeless. By itself, snow couldn’t do much but inspire.
Snow kept flitting down from the sky.
It rested over the uncaring sprawl, covering it all in a cold, dirtying blanket.
Story written by me, I wrote it originally in spanish , since is my first language, for my kids of creative writing class, but I translated it by myself with a little help of DeepL, since is more accurate than Google translate so, I hope you like it.
"The Winter Market"
The market appeard with the first frost, as it did every year. Overnite, the empty town square transformed into a bustling haven of stalls draped in silver and blue, their awnings shimering like ice. No one ever saw the venders arrive or leave. By dawn, the market was just there, as though it had grown from the frost itself.
Shannara pulled her woolen scarf tighter around her neck, her breath fogging in the chill air. She’d heard the stories—everyone had. The Winter Market was no ordinary bazar. The goods sold here weren’t things you could find in any other place. They were treasures ment only for the brave, the foulish, or the desprate.
Shannara was desprate.
Her younger sister, Linneth, had been struggling with a fever for five days now. It burned hot and relentless, leaving her tossing and mumbling in delirim. The villige healer had tryed everything—cold cloths, poultices, bitter teas—but nothing broke the fever’s grip. Shannara had scoured the woods for herbs, even begued remedies from a wandering apothecary. Nothing helped. Now, as Linneth’s breaths grew shallow and her skin clammy as melted snow, Shannara knew she had to try the market.
The square buzzed with life as she aproached. The air smelled of spices, woodsmoke, and something sharper, almost metalic. Vendors called out from their stalls, their voices melodic and strange.
“Frostberries, fresh from the peeks! A single bite grants courage for a lifetime!” “Dreamcatchers spun from moonlite—banish nightmares forever!” “Keys to doors that no longer exist!”
Shannara’s heart raced as she wove through the crowd. The goods were as peculair as the vendors themselves. One stall was run by a woman with hair that seemed to shimmer like a raven’s wing, her eyes an unsetling shade of gold. Another was manned by a figure so tall their head nearly brushed the icy garlands strung above. They wore a mask shaped like a fox’s face, their voice low and velvety as they offered charms for sale.
She was scanning the stalls when a voice spoke softly from behind her.
“I know what you seek.”
Shannara spun around, nearly colliding with an old man who seemed to have appeard from the shadows. He was hunched behind a small, nearly invisible stall tucked between two larger, bigger displays. His pale blue eyes gleammed like frozen ponds.
“Y-yeah?” she stamerd, her voice trembling. “What is it?”
The man tilted his head, a faint smile curling his thin lips. “Something to heal your sister, perhaps?”
Her heart skipped. “How—how do you know about Linneth?”
“I am Boreas,” he said, his name whispering through the air like a gust of wind. He straightened slightly, and for the first time, Shannara noticed his cloak, stitched from what looked like threads of frost. “The north winter wind knows a great many things.”
Her mouth went dry. “You know my name, too, don’t you?”
Boreas’s smile deepened. “Shannara, you’ve carried desperation in your heart for days now. It clings to you like frost on glass.”
“How do you—” She stoped herself, her breath hitching. She didn’t need to ask. There was something uncanney about him, something ancient.
Boreas gestured to his table, where a single object sat: a glass vial filled with liquid that shimmered like starlite.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Essense of winter,” Boreas said, his tone reverent. “A single drop will heal any ailment, soothe any pain.”
Her breath caught. “How much?”
“The price isn’t coin,” Boreas said, his icy gaze fixed on hers. “It’s something more... personal.”
Shannara hesitated. She’d heard this, too—that the Winter Market didn’t deal in ordinary currency. The venders wanted memories, dreams, and pieces of the soul.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Boreas’s smile softened, but his eyes remained sharp. “Your warmest memory. The moment you’ve cherished most.”
Shannara froze. Her warmest memory... She didn’t have to think hard to know what it was. It was the summer day she and Linneth had spent by the river, splashing in the cool water and laughing until their sides ached. The last day they saw their mother in good health, playing with them, before she got sicked and the angel of death tooked her away… Linneth’s cheeks had been flushed with joy, her laughter ringing clear and bright in the warm air.
Could she give that up?
Her gaze droped to the vial. Linneth’s frail face flashed in her mind, her forehead burning under Shannara’s touch, her breaths uneven.
“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice firm despite the lump in her throat.
Boreas nodded, his expression unreadable. “Hold out your hand.”
Shannara obeyed, and Boreas reached into his cloak, pulling out a feather-thin blade made of ice. He touched it gently to her palm. For a moment, warmth flooded her, the memory of that summer day rushing back in vivid detail—the sunlight on her skin, Linneth’s laughter ringing in her ears. Their beautiful mother, playing with them… Then it was gone, leaving an aching emptyness in its place.
Boreas handed her the vial. “The essense will work immediatly. Use it wisely.”
Shannara clutched it tightly, her heart pounding. She didn’t thank him. She couldn’t find the words.
She ran all the way home, her boots slipping on patches of snow. When she reached Linneth’s bedside, she carefully uncorked the vial and let a single drop fall onto her sister’s cracked lips.
For a moment, nothing happend. Then Linneth’s eyes fluttered open, their brown depths brighter than they’d been in weeks. Her cheeks flushed with color, and when she sat up, the fever was gone.
“Shan?” Linneth asked, her voice small but steady. “What happened?”
Shannara smiled, though it felt hollow. “You’re better now. That’s all that matters.”
Linneth hugged her, her warmth seeping into Shannara’s cold, tired bones. But as Shannara held her sister, she realized she couldn’t recall the sound of Linneth’s laughter by the river or the way the sunlight had danced in her hair. The memory was gone, like a piece of herself had been carved away.
The Winter Market had given her what she wanted. But as Shannara watched the frost creeping up the windowpane, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d lost more than she’d bargained for.
Scamper languidly stretched her long furry body, claws extending and retracting. She had fallen asleep on her human's lap, but now found herself laying on a blanket at the edge of the couch, her human gone. Yawning once, Scamper hopped to the floor and paused. The house was dark and silent, the only lights were from the fake tree and a red light under the noisy picture box, which was now dark and silent too.
Scamper went down the hall to her human's room, but the door was closed. She considered scratching the door to get her human's attention, when she heard a curious sound, some thumping on the roof. Tail erect, Scamper padded back to the living room as it seemed closer to where the sounds were coming from. She thought she heard a bell, was it Felix coming to pay her a visit?
There was an odd sound coming from the fireplace, when all of a sudden a human fell out of the chimney! Scamper raced and hid behind the couch. She crawled under and peeped out of the gap at a very large human in a red outfit. The human stepped out of the fireplace and walked over to the fake tree.
Scamper observed the red human pull colourful boxes from a sack and place them under the fake tree. It seemed the big red human was about to return to the Chimney when it said 'oh ho ho, what do we have here?'. The human walked over to the small table next to the noisy picture box when Scamper saw it. A glass of milk.
Scamper loved milk and had a sudden realisation that the big red human was going to drink her milk! She quickly ran out from under the couch and jumped on the small table and yowled at the human, trying to communicate 'go away, this is my milk!'. The human paused and said 'hello little kitty, what a fine ginger furball you are'. Scamper understood from the human's tone that it was admiring her, just like her own human often did. So she meowed at the strange human. 'Hmm', it said. 'I think the milk and cookies were left for me, but you know, we can share'.
Scamper observed the big red human pick up and start munching on the cookies. She was fine with that. She didn't like cookies. Next thing the big red human took her milk! Scamper began to hiss in outrage but stopped when she realised the human was pouring her milk onto the plate that held the cookies.
She started lapping up the milk as the big red human watched her. When she was finished she looked up at the big red human baring it's flat fangs at her. Her own human often did this, so Scamper was not concerned about being attacked. But then it reached down and picked her up!
Scamper meowed in concern and the big red human spoke to her. 'If I had a cat, I'd want one just like you. One of those boxes has a little present for you. I hope you like it!'. With that, the big red human deposited Scamper onto the floor and stepped into the fireplace.
The big red human whispered 'Merry Christmas!' and was suddenly sucked up the chimney and then was gone. Moments later there was more thumping on the roof, the sound of a bell and then silence again.
Scamper was confused, it approached the fireplace and looked up the chimney. It was much too narrow for a human. Scamper then decided that the big red human must have been a cat in disguise.
Love me some microfiction. Here's roughly 542 words about a holiday get-together for a found family. I would also like to remind you, for no particular reason, that Saint Nicholas, in addition to being the origin of Santa Claus, is the patron saint of thieves.
Taylor was by no stretch of the imagination an extrovert, but he did have his people. They were a bit scattered these days, though, and the nature of their respective lives meant they couldn’t always keep in touch. That’s what made days like this so important. What were the holidays for, after all, if not reconnecting with those you care about?
Approaching the front door of the modest but well-cared-for house, the sound of raised voices alerted Taylor to the fact that he wasn’t the first to arrive. “What, so I’m not allowed to have hobbies?”
“I’m not saying that, Rebecca, I’m saying that if your hobby is going to be this then you’re supposed to ask one of us to back you up.” Taylor opened the door to see Matt gesturing to one of the walls while Rebecca faced him down with a stubborn expression her hands on her hips. Apparently he took issue with their host’s choice of decoration. Craning his neck around to see what the fuss was about, Taylor found an old painting hanging above the mantle.
“As much as you talked about it back in the day, I always figured you’d go for it eventually.” He said by way of greeting. Rebecca rushed over to give him hug before he’d finished taking off his coat while Matt continued to vent.
“That’s all you have to say? Going in alone was too risky, she never should have—”
“Chill, dude,” Matt was one of the best planners Taylor had ever worked with. That was great on a job, but it also meant he could be little… high-strung in day-to-day life. “That museum’s security is a joke. And I know you know Becks can handle a simple con like this would have been.” Rebecca was as good of a grifter as Matt was a strategist. Taylor had felt outclassed by the two of them back when they’d started working together, but that faded as he got more chances to show off his own skills in the digital realm.
“No fighting on Christmas!” Came the voice of their old crew’s final member. Quinn’s sudden appearance at his side would have startled most people, but Taylor was well-acquainted with their habit of popping up with no warning. The burglar was the subject of dossiers in at least twelve different nations’ law enforcement agencies, and each one referred them simply as ‘The Ghost.’ “Why don’t we let off some of this steam? Perhaps with a little holiday heist?”
“I do know of a place nearby that hasn’t patched a Zero-Day exploit in their security system yet…” Taylor chimed in. Retirement didn’t grate on him as much as it did Rebecca and Quinn, but all the same, he missed working with his friends.
“What? No. Guys, we’re retired, remember?” Matt protested, but they could all see it was just a token resistance.
“And retirees need hobbies,” Rebecca said, giving their de facto leader one final push. “It’s fine as long as we have back up, that’s what you said earlier, right? So back us up.”
“Alright, fine.” Matt conceded with false resignation as he ushered them towards the door, his face mirroring their excited grins. “Let’s go break the law, just one more time.”
One of my favourite things to do as a hobby is to read and write fiction/fan fiction so I had a great time with this one.
The Last Snowfall
The snow had started at dawn, soft and unassuming, as though the sky itself was exhaling one final sigh of the year. Millie watched from her frosted window, her breath fogging the glass as she leaned closer. The village below looked like it had turned into a postcard overnight: blanketed roofs, smoke spiraling lazily from chimneys, not a footprint to disturb the virgin snow.
But this year, it wasn't just a season's signature. It was a warning.
The Elders spoke of it weeks in advance, huddled around the town square with furrowed brows and hushed tones: "The Final Winter." A winter that would engulf all and leave behind nothing but silence and snow. Some said it was folklore; others whispered prayers. The snow certainly was no folklore. It clung to the air like a heavy secret, falling steadily without pause. The village braced its shoulders, though for what, none could say.
Millie shivered, pulling her knitted scarf tighter around her neck. Downstairs, her mother was busy kneading dough, the scent of cinnamon and oranges wafting through the house—a small attempt at normalcy in a world tipping into uncertainty. "Don't go out," her mother had said, her voice tight with worry. "The cold isn't just cold anymore. It takes."
But Millie couldn't sit still. Something of the snow called to her. It wasn't fear; it was curiosity-a feeling that wouldn't shift, that she was meant to see this winter for herself.
She stepped out into the powder, boots sinking with a satisfying crunch. The air was sharp and crisp, nibbling at her cheeks. The world around her was oppressively silent. Even the birds had fled the trees, leaving the village swathed in deep stillness. There was no sound but the faint whisper of the snow falling.
It stood at the edge of the village, its trees skeletal sentinels with frost-burdened branches. As she neared the treeline, she saw a figure-a blur of white against the white. Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a person. It couldn't be.
The figure drew nearer, and she saw it plain: a stag. Its antlers glimmered with frost, its fur glittered as if dusted with diamonds, its eyes shone faintly, like embers in the snow. It was beautiful, otherworldly. It stopped a few paces away, watching her with a calm intensity that felt almost human.
"You feel it too," Millie whispered, her words puffing into the icy air.
The great stag bowed its head, and for an instant, the world stood still. Snowfall ceased, wind held its breath, and something stirred inside Millie-a warmth, a light, a spark. The stag turned and started to walk away, its hooves leaving behind faint green trails in the snow, as if spring itself followed in its wake.
Millie hesitated only for a second before following. Her mother would worry. The village wouldn't believe her. But Millie knew, deep in her heart, this wasn't the end. The Final Winter wasn't death-it was transformation. And if she followed the stag, she might just find what lay beyond the snow.
(Kawase Hasui - Young woman under a parasol in the snow)
Ume adjusted the obi of her kimono as a few snowflakes fell like winter sakura petals. After turning off the main road and looking down over her parasol, she could see the snowy Shinkyo Bridge ahead, blending with brushstrokes of vermilion in the white landscape. Again, like every day, she remembered her beloved; his absence burned into her heart, and once more, she forced herself to forget so as not to suffer.
The snow continued to fall and accumulate around her. Looking at the ground, she seemed to recognize her own footprints from previous days, leading her to the same destination. After a few steps, she reached the entrance to the sanctuary, and soon after, without knowing how, she stood at the very door of her house. There, her mother was stoking the fire, and her father, with the serious expression that always dominated his face, barely made the slightest gesture to look at her.
Her younger sister came to her enthusiastically, helped her take off her shoes, and dragged her with strength and joy into a corner of the room. She was her only reason to hold on to hope. After letting her plead a couple of times, Ume finally pulled from her sleeve the item she had brought: a beautiful kanzashi. She couldn't tell her sister how she had gotten it or what it meant to her, but she knew it would be her New Year's gift. After seeing her sister's huge smile of satisfaction and amazement, Ume quickly tucked it back into her kimono, rose, and headed for the door.
Her sister tried to stop her but soon gave up, understanding the inevitable. They shared a beautiful, knowing smile. That was her visit. That was all the time she could afford to spend each day in the house that had once been her home. She stepped outside, closed the door behind her, turned her gaze toward the road, and began her journey back.
Again, the snow was falling heavily; it had erased the footsteps that only minutes before had marked her path. As blurred and cold as her present, as soulless and devoid of passion as her future. She would never regret the decisions she had made; she would face the consequences and live with the sadness.
She opened her parasol and started walking again. She could feel the snowflakes falling harder, striking her only protection, making her steps heavier. Each step seemed more difficult than the last, more tiring, less hopeful, until she finally reached the end of the road.
Once again, she was on that bridge, once again surrounded by snow. The loud sound of her geta striking the wooden planks with each step echoed like the thunder of painful memories. Suddenly, a gust of wind almost tore the parasol from her grasp. She held it tightly; she didn’t want to let it go, she didn’t want to lose it... and the wind made a sound as it passed: Hikaru… and it disappeared into the vastness of time.
(Originally created in Spanish, and translated to English using DeepL.com)
Based on my IRL as a child: Edited slightly for my privacy etc.
Another year had gone by, it was December, and a 13yr old boy sat in his small room, a shared child-stay house, looking around he looked at his sad little tree in the corner, the only thing in the house that showed it was Christmas time, house rules prevented the house being decorated, they would state safety issues after he pestered them, pity showing in their eyes, some of their indifference, the job is just a paycheck.
Lying down, he fell into a troubled sleep as was normal, often sleep would elude him, even at a young age, he grew up faster mentally than was normal, and his life had been one troubled time after another. 7 am on the dot his door opened and the care worked strolled in to roughly shake him awake "School time, let's go" and stormed out, he got dressed, the school was attached as part of the children's home, so no uniform, he didn't have much to choose from, two draws of clothes. Quickly dressing he went downstairs and ate his bland breakfast as he did every morning and then got into the car.
Arriving at the school, a man he did not know and a lady he did took him upstairs to the offices. Sitting down they pulled out paperwork and explained that, they had found him a foster home, that could lead to adoption if things went well, the boy burst into tears put his head onto the table and sobbed quietly whilst the two looked on, used to seeing such things, he raised his head finally, his face streaked with tears "who" he asked in a hoarse voice. The Lady smiled and said "Me, this is why I took you out with my family, to see if you could get along with them, it's me who will be taking you home" he stared at her, not wanting to believe, only uttering one word "when" she smiled and said, "your things are being packed now, we are leaving now".
He arrived at their house, her husband was a successful builder and owned his own company, the house was a five-bedroom house, she led him upstairs to a very large room and opened the door, a new bed, transformers bedding, an empty desk, on his be was his belongings, a single black bag of clothes and five toy cars, his life story.
She turned to him and said "It won't be like where you were, you come and go around the house as you please, help yourself" She took a step forward and took his hands in hers "This is your home now, remember that" he nodded, trying to hold back tears, she left the room closing the door, he looked around, sat on the bed and began to cry.
The next morning his new foster brother knocked on the door and knocked and knocked, to boy sat waiting for him to enter the room but he didn't and then his new foster mum opened the door and explained that I wasn't used to privacy, he nodded and said to the boy "Do you want to go Christmas shopping with me?" he nodded, but had never done any such thing, so he said "but I don't have money, how will I shop?" his foster brother burst out laughing "it's fine, I do, come on, get dressed, let's eat and go"
Fast Forward 4 days, 20th December.
The boy sat, wrapping presents, a smile on his face, feeling for the first time, like part of a family, they had, had days of going to relatives houses, being treated nicely and making new friends with family members his own age. For once, he faced Christmas with a happy heart, not with the dread of waking up with nothing and it just being another day. He knew the large pile of presents to the right of the tree where his, his new mum had said "It's too close to Christmas to go on a spending spree, so just wait a few days for your new things".
Five Days Later - Christmas Day
He awoke early, the house was quiet, and dawn was just coming, he paced his room, and then sat with his cars, pushing them around, a short while later there was a knock at the door and his new mum opened the door with a smile "Merry Christmas Handsome, come on, let's go get breakfast and then open your presents" he bolted out the room and downstairs, wolfing down his food, he sat quietly, trying to be patient whilst she smiled at him, he said Merry Christmas to everyone as they came down, she said "okay, come on, let's do presents" he raced into the front room and saw his presents had been put next to one of the sofa's, she told him to go ahead and he started opening his gifts and was soon overcome with emotion. he was surrounded by people smiling at him, gifts around him, things he saw on TV but didn't think he would ever own himself, a big stereo, Hot Wheels garages with new cars, new books to read, music cd's, a portable cd player, so many new clothes.
For the first time in his life, he saw hope on the horizon, he saw family, he felt secure and he felt, like life was worth living, whilst still part of the system, he had a family a home and soon a new school, and new friends. Even though that boy is all grow up now, married with children, he is still the son of the woman and her husband, who took him in and made his life, what it is today, who gave him, his first happy Christmas in his life to that point and many more after that.
Once upon a winter's night, in a village blanketed by snow, a boy named Jack sought a magical tree said to grant wishes. Through the blizzard, he journeyed, his breath like smoke in the frosty air. He found the tree, aglow with stars, and wished for warmth. As he returned, the village was lit by a soft, new dawn, and from then on, winter was never too harsh. Jack's wish had not just warmed his village but changed the very nature of winter there. From that day forward, snow was gentle, and the cold bore the warmth of friendship. Each year, on the anniversary of his wish, the villagers gathered around the magical tree, now known as Jack's Tree, to share stories and laughter, turning the harshest season into a celebration of life and community. The tradition grew, with people from neighboring villages joining in, drawn by tales of the miraculous tree. They brought gifts, songs, and their own stories, turning the once solitary quest into a festival of winter. Jack, now an old man, watched with joy as children played where he once walked alone. His wish had woven a tapestry of togetherness, making winter not just bearable, but eagerly awaited. As years passed, the festival known as "Jack's Winter Gathering" became legendary. It was said that on the night of the festival, the stars shone brighter, winking at the earth in approval. Even the wind seemed to whisper tales of Jack's journey. And when Jack passed, his spirit was said to reside in the tree, ensuring that the warmth of his wish would never fade, making every winter a time of miracles and shared humanity. Decades later, when the world outside grew harsh and cold with strife, people from far and wide would make the pilgrimage to the village, seeking the peace Jack's tree offered. They came with their burdens, leaving with hope. The tree, standing tall against the snow, became a symbol of resilience and kindness, its branches like arms welcoming all who sought solace. Jack's legacy was now a beacon of light in the darkest season, reminding all that even in winter, love and community could flourish. And so, the story of Jack's wish became a legend passed through generations. Schools taught it as a lesson in compassion, artists painted it, and poets sang its virtues. The village thrived, not just surviving winters but celebrating them. The tree itself grew with each story added to its lore, its roots deep in the earth, symbolizing the enduring bond of community. Jack's name echoed through time, a whisper on the wind, a promise that warmth could be found even in the coldest of hearts. In time, the village evolved into a sanctuary where the world's weary could find peace. A library was built around Jack's Tree, filled with books on kindness and tales of courage. Scholars and dreamers alike came, inspired by the tree's magic. Winter, once a season of isolation, now bonded the world. Every snowflake that fell seemed to carry a piece of Jack's spirit, and as they blanketed the earth, they spread his message: that even in the darkest times, there's light, love, and the promise of spring. Years turned into centuries, and though the world changed, the essence of Jack's winter remained unchanged in this village. Technology advanced, bringing people closer yet often further apart in spirit. But here, under the boughs of Jack's Tree, technology served to share the story, to connect hearts across continents. Virtual gatherings joined the physical, and the festival's light reached into homes far away, proving that Jack's wish had transcended time, touching the future with the warmth of the past. The tree, now ancient, was cared for by generations, each adding their own touch to the festival. New customs blended with the old; lanterns were hung with messages of hope, and digital screens displayed the names of those who couldn't be there in person. The air was always filled with music, laughter, and the scent of pine, a testament to Jack's enduring gift. This village, once small and unknown, became a beacon of what humanity could aspire to be, teaching the world that in the heart of winter, the soul of spring could always be found.
Deep in code, Maria looked up and suddenly she was alone in the office.
In between the curly braces of a function, and the syntax of JavaScript she must have missed her co-workers leaving for Christmas Eve to spend with their loved ones and families of which Maria had none. At least none near-by. Parents had decided to join her brother this festive season looking after Maria's new nephew and Maria still lived alone in a one-bed studio situated above a Chinese Restaurant.
Stretching, Maria checked her surroundings to see whether anyone was left? Neighbours Claire with the Hair and Steve from Accounting had vacant chairs, along with the intern Rachel who's desk was normally adorned with candy wrappers from the back-to-back fuddles that accompanied the festive season.
Maria was content being alone in the office. She preferred the solitude of herself, the glow of the computer, and rhythmic beat of lo-fi music. It was how she learnt the code, it was the environment that got her through college and now it is how it was providing her livelihood. Plus she could shave a couple of pennies of the heating bill by staying at HQ.
A break in her coding state meant re-entering the reality. Suddenly all her body started alerting the various needs that been neglected: recharge, empty, required sustenance, and stretching. Standing up from her desk she could fully see the vast rows of empty desks, cubicles, and meeting rooms. She might be the only worker still present. The empty silence was eerie and something she never really experienced. It made her feel small and isolated. Time to get out of here, Maria thought as she gathered her things.
Phone, ID card, glasses, keys, and laptop. Picking things up and placing them into her bag was her way of de-stressing from an intense work day. However reaching for her keys which usually sat on a hook attached to the desk, it was strangely missing. 'Aww not again' as Maria remembered a couple months ago spending two hours of her evening time looking all over the office for her keys; interrupting colleagues as she crawled under desks and shifted their personal belongings, she was like a gum shoe looking for clues only to find it in her jacket pocket. Her colleagues never let her live that down, so much so that her secret santa gift this year was a magnifying class, a joke gift from Susan the intern.
At least no-one was here to see her re-create her best Sherlock Holmes impression she thought she she began the usual inspection of her desk, under the desk and neighbours. As she prepared to descend to look under the desk she heard a jingle jingle. "Santa!?" was her initial thought as she still held the red jolly fellow fondly in her heart. But the jingling was a bit too close for her to not acknowledge St Nick in her proximity.
Plus the noise was a familiar sound.
Standing up she heard it again! Feeling around her jacket she found her house keys!
Breathing a sigh of relief she exited through the stairway, ready to enjoy her Christmas holidays
Sophomore year, it was just the two of us in the campus lift. We passed each other, the atmosphere silent as we stole glances. I knew him, but not vice versa. We finally parted ways in the lobby-he to the left and I to the right. Life went on as usual, until winter came. Snow began to fall slowly, covering the entire campus with a layer of white, creating a world that seemed to pause to make room for something new.
A few months later, we were reunited at a rotation event. Knowing she was there, my habit of observing her came out of nowhere. Seeing how she walked in the snow, letting the cold wind touch her face, and how she laughed with her friends, providing warmth amidst the piercing temperatures. I wanted to know more about her, more than just a brief glance or a hurried conversation in the middle of the corridor.
One day, I ventured to open up the conversation. We talked about the weather, about how the snow felt different every year. Nothing too important, just light words that flowed naturally. However, when I started asking about her relationship with my friend who she said was a distant relative, I realised there was something more than coincidence that brought us together.
She looked awkward, her voice low but honest. ‘Yeah... but it's more like friends. We hang out together a lot.’ Her voice was still disjointed, but behind her words, I could feel something deeper, something warmer despite the cold air around us.
That day, the snow fell more heavily. We walked side by side, our footsteps blending into the traces of the thickening snow. The trees around the campus looked even more beautiful with a layer of snow covering their branches, and among the trees, there was one cherry blossom tree that even though it was not its season to bloom, still stood firmly, as if reminding us that this winter would soon pass, giving way to something more beautiful.
‘I feel like that cherry tree,’ I said as I gazed at the tree that looked so strong despite being surrounded by cold snow. ‘Even if there are no blossoms, there's something alive inside.’
She smiled, her eyes twinkling as if she understood. ‘I know what you mean,’ he replied, his voice now sounding warmer, more open. ‘Sometimes we have to go through winter to feel the warmth of spring.’
Under the sky that was slowly turning grey with the thickening snow, we stood under the cherry blossom tree. It felt as if time had stopped, there were only the two of us, and this cool world.
He reached out his hand, touching a cherry blossom that had fallen off the tree. ‘Perhaps this is our way of starting something new, even in the midst of the harsh winter.’
I paused, feeling my heart filled with feelings that were difficult to express. ‘I think... I want to start our story from here,’ I said, my eyes welling up with tears, holding back the emotion that rose so deeply.
By then, the snow was falling more and more heavily, enveloping us in a comforting layer of cold. However, under that cherry tree, in the midst of the long winter, we found a warmth that would carry us through all the seasons to come.
I’m sorry, I translated it with Deepl because of my limited English.
The snow began to fall. Large, fluffy flakes fell in a spiral, illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps. They landed softly on the earth in the yard and also on the asphalt in the street... “Winter has its magic, doesn't it?” - Sofia said, alone in her room on the second floor of a humble house, as she noticed how the snow was gradually covering the busy December week and turning the street into an expanse of dreams. Sofia then tightened her scarf to prepare for the cold that was already approaching, excited for the time she had been looking forward to all year - she loved those moments when the world was reduced to a whisper, as if inviting her to listen more carefully!
Before long, the snow took over everything it could touch. The old market square, normally vibrant with the noise of people and the many lights that illuminated the whole site, had been taken over by snow. The stalls with colorful striped awnings were now empty, their surfaces dusted with white. A lone violinist remained playing, sheltered by a small canopy at the side of the market. The music drifted across the square, it was beautiful..., its presence and its art heralded the winter that Sofia loved so much, and even in this great cold, her heart warmed. Sofia paused on her daily walk to drop a coin into the musician's hat, receiving a slight nod of gratitude and a gentle change in melody. She then continued her walk, as the notes of the violin followed her like a ghost in her direction, fading away and clinging to the quiet night.
Sofia always liked walking through the city, she said that even if she walked the same route, she never saw the same landscape, let alone had the same experience as before. She loved that. The novelty. The surprise. The unknown. She continued her walk, arriving at a dark, serene river, which mirrored the lights of the nearby buildings and houses. On its surface, fragments of ice swayed lazily in the stillness of the night. Her slow journey downstream was a reminder of the passage of time and a reflection on everything she had lived through and still had to live through... Sofia then stopped unexpectedly after noticing a reflection in the snow she was passing. It was a mirror. Probably knocked over by someone who had passed by earlier. The mirror had beautiful details on its edges, it was certainly an old and very beautiful item - “Has it been here for a long time? I don't think so... The snow would have buried it if that were the case” - Sofia thought, looking at the mirror and noticing that it reflected her white skin and also the moonlight, making it seem, in the beauty that was that moment, as if the mirror were a magical item!
The magic of that moment awoke a vivid and bittersweet memory in the smiling girl who stared into the mirror with a wistful look on her face. It was a Christmas several years ago, when her family's living room was filled with laughter and freshly baked cookies and snacks. Sofia was 6 years old and playing happily near the red decorated tree, probably 5 times her size. That day, among the presents she received was a mirror. It was pink, not very big because it wouldn't fit in her small hands, but it was very beautiful. Sofia had wanted this mirror for a long time. Children always come up with strange wishes and desires for adults, but their creative minds made that present better than any she had ever received.
Sofia amused herself with her mirror, thinking of the various kingdoms in which she was the most beautiful and powerful princess, capable of defeating any enemy and commanding an entire nation. Sofia certainly didn't think small. Unfortunately, that same day, during one of her games, Sofia ended up falling over the mirror, breaking it and injuring the arm that was holding it. She cried immediately, along with the fear of a fight for having broken a present she had just won. Her father promptly picked it up as soon as he understood what had happened. This is a strong memory for Sofia. He wasn't angry, let alone fighting with the little 6-year-old girl, but caressing her and trying to calm her down with kisses and hugs and a soft, gentle voice that warmed her cheeks. Sofia loved that moment. How could the broken mirror of her dreams make her so happy? Before long, it was as if nothing had happened. The feeling was so strong at that moment, a feeling of security, but above all of love, that all the previous despair quickly faded away. Sofia cried, but this time of happiness, a gentle cry, with smiles accompanying the tears. She knew that her present was there beside her every day. A present that didn't need to be opened every Christmas or birthday. A gift for life...
Now, years later, that feeling had almost disappeared. Her parents' voices had become echoes, they were distant, momentarily recovered for an instant as quick as the burning of a match, but which never lasts long. She held the mirror tightly in her gloved hands, as if to protect something she was afraid of losing again, perhaps a way of bringing it closer.
Sofia shed tears. They were few, and she soon recovered as if she didn't want to show weakness. She wanted to be strong, just as she had always played since she was a child. The mirror renewed her soul, brought back memories that had become forgotten. Sofia ran back the way she had come, hugged the violinist who was still playing his music and headed home. She ran upstairs to her room on the second floor of the house where she lived. She turned on her computer and bought the first tickets she saw to Boston. That's where she had lived her entire childhood, where the memory she had recovered today had been lived - “I'm not spending another Christmas alone, that was the last time! I'm going, I promise...” - Sofia almost shouted, as if she wanted her parents to hear her. But they did. They have never stopped listening and supporting everything their daughter does. She's just not able to perceive all this love that touch can't reach...
The night was extremely pale that christmas eve, because of the snow and the cold, and the cold was almost from another world. The Hutter father hadn’t arrived at home yet, and long hours had passed since he left. He only said that it would be a moment that he would go to the town to get some food and supplies before the Christmas celebration.
Hutter was used to be alone at home since his mother has died 5 years ago by the severe winter and lack of food, the life at their farm was arduous but for some reason they weren’t welcomed in the town, just to buy some supplies and food and sometimes his father come back wounded, always looking like he lost a fighter, its brake Hutter heart every time he see his father at that condition. But his father always arrived at home with a big smile and a bag of food in his hand, sometimes a big bag but most of the time a little one that he shared with Hutter and his wife before her death. And this evening wouldn’t have to be different, his father would soon arrive with more food for the merry night!
After some time close to the fireplace Hutter decide to look through the window to see if he sees any sign of his father, but the only thing he seems is a point of light that is always there, this point is nonetheless the town up distant in the horizon, this time the light coming from there was a little week this time, what caused strangeness to him since in this period of the year there are more torches lighten up because of the dark nights and the cold.
But this moment that Hutter was looking at the window a strong and single wind pass through all the snow field and all the torches at sight, closes ones and distant as all seems to fade out for a moment and come back stronger, but Hutter start to feel super sleepy and before he drop on the ground he sees a little silhouette on the road that leads to their farm, the shadow looks like an human with strange proportions, looking fast even looks like a goat… “Krampus, it can’t be, I’m a good kid, never disobeyed my parents, always hel…”. Before he could finish his thoughts he fell asleep.
The other day he woke up with his father offering him food, Hutter's father looked deplorable, he never saw his father that injured… “Father, are you ok?”, ask the kid with a frightful expression on his face. “I’m ok my son, I only felt on my way back home, but don’t worry, now we have a dinner and a breakfast to eat, sorry to the longing”, replies his father, with another smile in his face, the biggest one yet. That morning their had the best banquet of their life , Hutter couldn't stop to think how pleased he would be to have his mother with them that morning.
After that night his father always returned to home with a lot more food, and nevermore had a scratch on his skin, it was almost a gift that he received, but one think he could notice, the town light each year start to vanishes even more until one day it ceased to exist, after that his father was gone as well, almost christmas eve, and now, with 23 years old, he had to live by it self and the first thing it have to do was to buy everything to make the honour of his father, buying flowers, candles and a good suit for his father funeral. The only place he knew was the town close, but there was a doubt, was there anyone in the town yet?
After hours of walking he finally reach the town, it was almost in ruins, take by the vegetation already, he enters the town, but what he seems isn’t so pleased, besides the town ruining, there were bodies and skeletons all around, it could be just a warning but he need to see if there was anybody there, along the way he grabs just a suit, that was in a empty house and in the town square he seems an old man with a mantle a blanket all around him, and when he approaches the old man start shouting “GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT!! … KRAMPUS WILL BE HERE, THAT CURSED DEVIL, WILL KILL EACH ONE OF US!!! … WE SHOULDN’T HAVE EXPELLED HIM FROM THIS TOWN! WE SHOULDN’T… We shouldn’t… We shouldn’t… “ With fear, Hutter runs outside of this town… what happened to that town? Hutter couldn't answer the only one that could answer was his father, but now he is long gone, and he won’t have a proper funeral like his mother had.
Arriving at his farm he finally understood why his father never told about the decline of the town, about why they had to live in that farm starving and with cold, and why his father was always wounded… In the bed where his father's body was now had a dead half goat and half human being. Krampus was his father…
It was one of the coldest winters in the village of White Mountain, but the bad weather didn't faze Simon, a free-spirited and restless young man who loved adventure, and had just heard rumors about a hidden place in the mountains to the north, a magical and legendary place called the Forest of Frozen Crystals, where all the nature that belonged to it was made of the purest ice, and at its center there was a crystal artifact that shone and reflected lights like the colors of the rainbow, and could grant a wish to whoever found it.
Simon spent those long winter nights thinking about how he could save his village from the famine caused by this devastating weather, until curiosity and hope made him set off one Sunday morning, before the sun's rays illuminated the village, with only his fur clothes and a map as old as his people.
Every step was an effort due to the vast layer of snow, but nothing, not even the frightening creatures of winter, could affect the determination of this young dreamer.
It had been days and weeks of walking through a hostile environment, but suddenly the scenery began to change. The darkness and the overwhelming snow gave way to a nature full of sparkling crystals, igniting that flame of hope in Simon's heart. He knew he was very close.
But this was a magical place and the atmosphere there was different, the trees seemed to change position with every step, as a way of disorientating anyone who dared to cross the forest.
In the center of the place, Simon came across a sparkling cave, with columns and walls that reflected and illuminated like mirrors. And then from inside the cave emerged a huge and frightening creature, an ice guardian, who looked like a warrior made of snow and crystal. With eyes like hurricanes, he stared at the young man and asked in a shuddering voice why that little human dared to wake him from his slumber and invade his domain.
Simon gathered his courage and determination and explained to the Guardian the reason for his journey.The Keeper was touched by the young man's story and then offered him a challenge, saying, “If your story is true and your motivations are that pure, climb that altar I'm pointing to and go get the artifact you so desperately need.”
Simon followed as the Guardian watched him. When he touched the artifact, an icy object that looked like a human heart, he could then make his wish come true. But first he felt a slight tremor under his feet and the Guardian said, “You really are wise and your motives are correct, young man. You have just been tested by the heart, and if you failed, your life would end now. Ask the heart for what you need, but remember that changing the world comes with responsibilities.”
Simon then touched that beating, glowing heart and silently made the request that motivated him on his long journey.
He then took the road back to his village, and when he arrived he found the place transformed. Magic now helped the land, the cold didn't stop the trees from bearing fruit and the animals from reproducing, there was enough food for everyone. Simon was welcomed as a winter hero and White Mountain never suffered from bad weather again. On the coldest nights, it was still possible to see far away the splendorous glow of the forest's crystals, which called the bravest to face it.
