I'm in the middle of writing mine right now. I haven't read any entries, and I'm not going to until I post mine so I don't copy any by accident.
Hold up I got this. Hot chocolate by me. Steam billows pleasantly from your mug. Your hand is warm, in stark contrast to the rest of you. It is a rite of passage, so to speak, that you should spend your time in the biting cold, idling in the sort of childish sport you participate in. Being that you are indeed eight, this comes as no surpise. Dad tells you your nose is red at the tip, and you exclaim that you are Rudolph the Red nosed reindeer, it's been you all of thse years. He makes this thunderous noise, and plops another marshmallow in his concoction. You grin cause his laugh is slightly infectious to that point. Then your other father walks in and gives you that Look from over his glasses, (one practiced from being a librarian since the dawn of time), because you've both dumped your things in the hallway even though Librarian dad despises it with a passion. You suppose it comes with the territory, (except you don't know that word quite well enough to use it in a sentence, but you understand the context). Dad with the mustache grins at Librarian dad and he has foam in said facial hair. You know he does this on purpose because Librarian dad gets this soft look around his eyes and sighs, in that giving up sort of way, and you know Mustache dad wins. For now. Librarian dad insists on putting up the tree. They have both procrastinated, as they usually do with everything, an annoying habit by Mustache dad, an abomination by Librarian dad. Christmas is three weeks away, and Librarian dad is a disagreeable lump, says dad M. (They are usually referred to by you as Dad and Pops, Pops being mustache because it suits him, Dad for librarian because it suits him). You, for your part, are the excitement of Christmas. The light of the fire, the most presents under the tree, followed shortly by Dad. Pops lugs down boxes of tinsle from the attic, Dad supervises and makes more hot cocoa, of which you have enough to give a mug to an entire town of hobos, (but you don't because Dad would cut Pops if he didn't have "any goddamned hot chocolate Ted, excuse my French, Charlie," which you privately did while extending your list of Dad cursewords). The tree is, of course, plastic. Requires assembly. You play with ornaments carefully, color coding them, then becoming more interested in your actual toys, than helping. But you do keep your legos out of the way, because Dad gets real swear-y then if he steps on them. Pops tells him he should just wear shoes and Dad shoots him a Look. (Personally, the Look makes you wet your pants but Pops doesn't flinch. He is twice the man you'll ever be, and you're only eight). Dad does most of the assembly since he thinks he's so darn smart, (even though he is), and Pops grumbles about it with his arms crossed over his Christmas sweater. You look up from your toys and Pops is giving Dad one of those gross gooey looks when he's not looking. You don't get it. All he's doing is standing there, looking at the tree like he does anything; trying to figure out what's wrong with it. Dad sighs and glares at it, only increasing the gooeyness of Pop and you look back down at your toys. You don't get it. But you don't much care. The next thing you know, you look up and the tree is fully assembled and ready to go. You hop up in excitement and Dad laughs, "Ready to decorate, Charlie?" Pops grins and you nod furiously. There are ornaments in the boxes, the most special ones are made by you because they stick out. Your dads tend to buy eccentric decorations, in dull colors, which is boring. The colors you contribute are obviously the best bits. By the time you're done, there are little pockets of rainbow, where you specifically put your creations. Anyone who walks in and looks at the tree can see your artistic prowess, and will be in awe of it, fear and respect it. Or at least you think so. The topper is a star. It's heavy, metal, and sparkly. Reminds you of gold, like Dad's wedding ring. It's new in relative terms, here before you can remember but you never remember much. It's well worth the wait to put it on, and it is, likewise to snow fun, a rite of passage. It is your eighth year of life, you're like two years away from double digits. You are bigger and wordlier than ever before in this moment. Holding the star in your hands, you feel the weight of it. Pops tells you you'll also be lighting the Menorah at grandmama's house and you wonder if it'll feel like this because you don't usually do the candle thing, (Randall, your cousin, does). Both Pop and Dad lift you up, because you're not tall enough just yet, and the star is perfectly placed, (if not the slightest bit crooked). You celebrate with Christmas cookies, and Pops kisses Dad on the nose, right at the tip. "Merry Christmas, Frank." You hear Pops say, as you ascend the staircase (also wrapped in tinsel), to go to bed. "Happy Chanukah, Ted." A whisper wafts on the air, probably Dad. You fall asleep with visions of race car reindeer and exploding puppies. Merry Christmas, indeed.
I have a weakness for yaoi... That counts as yaoi. I didn't notice any spelling mistakes, looks like I'll have to read it again 0.0
It's just a kid enjoying putting up a tree with his dads. Other than the fact that it's a family with two male parental units instead of one, there's nothing yaoi about it.
Technically it was a compliment since I like Yaoi, but I respect his wishes and will not call it such.
❄Unfreezing A Heart❄ Jack Frost blew out his breath lightly, the cold air snuggling him in it's chilling arms. It didn't bother him, the cold numbed the loneliest of hearts. He tilted his head up, hearing a few teenagers running. A small huff escaped him, it was always the same every year. Mr Claus ran by after throwing a snowball Ms Claus. They laughed at one another and continued the fight, circling near Jack's resting tree. Ms Claus smiled, her light honey colored hair falling around her shoulders. Playful but loving brown eyes gazing at Mr Claus, " You can give up now and admit defeat. " " I never admit defeat! ", Mr Claus chuckled in return, his dirty blonde hair hidden under a blue winter cap. His nose and cheeks a light rosy red. A grin on his face and snowball in hand. He moved to chuck it, instead at the last minute. He dropped it on Jack's head. Jack bolted up in surprise and glared at Santa, " Dude! What's your problem?!? " Santa shrugged his shoulders and looked back at him un fazed, " Every year, your always sitting by yourself. We always try to get you to join in, and you always refuse. Let someone at least unfreeze that frozen heart of yours. Sticking by yourself is not healthy or natural. " Jack Frost rolled his eyes and grabbed his black sports book bag. His frosty silver like hair spiked in different directions, " I didn't ask for a companion and I don't need one. " They watched him leave with dampened moods and small frowns. Every year, he would sit under that tree around Christmas time. Always in a bad mood and never wanting to play with them. He was a good kid regardless, and he remained good throughout all the bad he had gone through. Losing your mother at a young age and having to care for your little sister. A huge stress factor and a heavy weight to carry for someone so young as he. Jack Frost walked solemnly through the frozen snow covered forest. His hand shoved in to his silver jacket pockets, light blue eyes down casted. A heavy ball of snow landed on his head. Which caught his attention immediately. He moved to yell at Santa, and found no one there. He blinked in surprise and looked around. A blur of green flew past to his right. He narrowed his gaze, and took off after the smaller figure. The smaller green cloaked figure hid behind a tree and laughed. The nerve! To throw a snowball at someone and laugh at them afterwards. He reached down and balled up a ball of snow in his hands. Just as the figure came out to launch a few of their snowballs. He launched his first and got the figure in the shoulder. They fell back like a sack of potatoes. He wasn't the champion of snowball wars for nothing. His footsteps moved quickly to pin down the intruder and snowball thrower. Just as he had them pinned and pulled back the cloak to scold the other person. Words failed him and his mouth fell open in surprise. A teenager around his age, stared back at him in equal surprise. Her bright green eyes shining mischievously, blonde hair framing her face and stopping at her middle back. Her lips curved in to a shy smile, " Er, hi! I'm Emily. I saw you sitting by yourself and just thought you wouldn't mind a friendly snowball fight. " Jack Frost continued to stare at her and attempted to collect his thoughts, " Oh-eh-um, I-I-I'm Jack, Jack Frost " She giggled at his stammering and accepted his helping hand. He pulled her back on to her feet, taking a lot longer of time to let go of her hand. Which in turn made her blush and gaze down at the snowy ground. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the sky, " So...you come here often? I mean, people don't normally come here. Usually just me..by myself.." She shifted her gaze to him, " Winter time is beautiful. I like to take walks when I'm thinking. But why do you come here alone? ", She inquired softly and watched him with curiosity. " Always have since my mom passed away. Guess old habits die hard. Especially when there is no one to really be around. I mean, who wants to be around a crabby guy? " " I'm so sorry to hear about your mother passing. I lost my grandmother last winter. Though you shouldn't stay alone. " " Why's that? If you don't mind me asking? " " The heart will slowly freeze and became hard, then no one will be able to get through. ", She replied and caught a snow flake in her hand, " My grandmother once told me. The cure for a frozen heart, is a loving warm one. To keep it wrapped in warmth and love, and then.." Jack Frost leaned in slightly in Interest, " And then..?" " And then the ice cracks and the heart is able to break free from the cold darkness. ", She said softly and held the small white snowflake out to him. Her eyes shifted to gaze up at him. He blinked a few times, registering her words. He slowly reached out to touch the snowflake. It slowly melted between the two hands, leaving a puddle of water on Emily's palm. Jack gently reached over and grabbed her hand, " I like that story, do you have any more? " Emily softened her gaze and held his hand as they walked out of the forest, " Oh yes! There was one about my grandfather eating grandma's chili one day..." A figure leaned out from their hiding spot. The tree giving off enough shadows to hide behind. Mr Claus smiled to himself, " So it seems there is a cure for a frozen heart, after all. " Ms Claus nodded and moved to his side, snuggling in to him as he pulled her close, " I'm happy to see a change in his cold demeanor. " Me Claus chuckled and led her away to get some hot chocolate from a local diner. The tooth fairy always did make the best hot chocolate in town. And the Easter Bunny was always quick to steal it and her home grown carrots. To heal a frozen heart.. You must first gently take it in your hands Sprinkle it with love and hold it close The cracks will start and then the ice will break They will then warm up to you and then and only then.. Will you be able to unfreeze a frozen heart
25 Days Day 1 Day 1 I walk alone, down the street and I can see the lights on the houses, trees lit up and the many decorations that are signs that Christmas is coming. Beautiful, fabulous Christmas is coming, and I really can’t wait. The presents, the family, the mistletoe, the decorations, everything, even the childish tales of Santa, Rudolph, Frosty, and everything about Christmas, I love to no end. Sure it’s twenty-five days away, but its Christmas. I can’t imagine myself not wanting to celebrate, not being able to celebrate. I see my house, only probably a few steps away. I see my mother and little sisters, placing ornaments on the tree. Here in Holiday Village, as everyone calls out town, we go all out for Christmas. We have contests for the brightest house, the most decorative, and the overall best home, all for Christmas. My family has always won, for as long as I can remember. All five of us kids, our mother, and our father always do the best to deck the halls with as much holly as we can. My father picks up my one and only little brother, who is only four, and lets him place the star on the tree. I smile as I see it, stopping on the sidewalk. My older sister, who was watching the rest of the family put up the decorations, spots me and smiles, waving me over. I nod before she’s out of sight and I quickly run towards the door, grinning happily. I haven’t seen Holly in almost a year. She only comes home for Christmas because she always gets behind on her studies in college. She always gets a whole month and a week to visit because she stays at school almost all year round. So she’s so nice to pop up just for Christmas, the best time of the year. “Christina,” she squeals as she throws open the door, running towards me. The whole family has Christmas themed names. Holly, Christina, Joy, Belle, and Nick are the names for us children and Joseph and Noelle are my parents’ names. We take Christmas very seriously. But all of us here in Holiday Village do because it’s the time of the year where we all are with family. We have Christmas parties and Ugly Sweater parties and whoever has the ugliest sweater gets another ugly sweater. Yes, we’re weird, but who doesn’t want to see who has the ugliest sweater? “Holly!” I exclaim and she engulfs me in a big hug. Holly is nineteen, only two years older than I am. She has the family look: brown hair, green eyes, short, and a happy, shining face. All of us Kringles – yes, my last name is Kringle like Santa Claus, Kris Kringle – have the same look. Nick and Dad, however, have red hair, gray eyes, tall, and have the happy, shining face. We all look the same. Well, we are the Kringles. “Mom, Dad, Christie is back!” Holly calls and wraps an arm around me. I am shorter than she is, and I’m the shortest of the bunch. Not even five foot. It’s sad. We walk into the house and my parents smile and wave, going back to their decorating. I was only gone for an hour and the decorations are almost finished. “Looks great guys!” I exclaim, looking around. There are lights everywhere and garland and everything. But something seems missing, and I would know if something was missing. My observation skills are almost perfect. “Almost” being the key word. Let’s just say if it’s something that doesn’t concern Christmas, I don’t care. “Hey, are we missing something?” I ask, trailing off as it seems to be bubbling into the front of my thoughts. “We have the tree,” Mom starts. “The lights...” Dad pipes in. “The decorations…” Holly chirps. “The cards are out to be written in…” Belle, my ten year old sister, adds. “Wreaths are on every door…”Joy, my thirteen year old sister, smiles. “Halls are decked!” Nick, the four year old, exclaims. “Tinsel, that’s what we’re missing!” I gasp. Everyone exclaims and nods in agreement. “I’ll go to the store and grab some. Anyone need anything else?” “Pens! We’re gonna run out of them quickly!” Mom tells me and I nod, stepping back outside. “And I think that’s it!” “Great! See you guys in thirty!” I dismiss, walking out the door as everyone says that they’ll see me soon. I walk to the store, smiling happily. I don’t have a car yet, sadly, but I hope to get one soon. It’s not a long walk, though, only ten minutes. As I walk, I think about things a senior girl should: boys, school, and Christmas. Now, the topic of guys is actually rather low. As many guys there are here in Holliday Village, none of them catch any of my attention. School, one of the other topics, is another topic that hardly grasps my attention. It’s almost over, why should I really worry when break is two weeks away. Christmas, as always, is the number one topic swarming my brain. Ever since Holiday Village was established in the 1800s, the tradition of Christmas was a huge deal. And by huge deal, I mean it, it’s a huge deal. If you don’t celebrate it, that’s fine, but you’ll feel the awkward tension when your house is the only one not decorated. I mean, yeah, we’ve had some people move here who were another religion that didn’t celebrate Christmas. We have nothing against them, and we get it that they don’t celebrate it because of their religion, but it does get awkward. “Have a great Christmas break” turns into “Have a great holiday break,” which is a very foreign phrase. It just doesn’t make sense. But, eventually, when we get used to the other family not celebrating Christmas, they leave. It happens every time. As I walk, I spot a van, and yes, it’s like the creepy white vans. And, what do you know, to top the image off, some guy around my age and two other kids are being shoved in there. What a fantastic way to start the holiday season. Either way, there’s only one thing I can do. And I am not letting them get kidnapped, in the parking lot of the store, no less. “Hey, stop!” I scream, hoping someone can hear me. Of course, the only people who do over the loud clanging of bells and Christmas music is the bad guys. Go me. They snap their heads towards me, glance at each other, and the bigger, brooding man starts for me. Well, there’s only one thing I can do: run. I spin on my heel and speed away, cursing myself for wearing boots instead of tennis shoes. Of course, like the classic girl in those horror movies, I trip. I fall, face first on the sidewalk, and the man grabs me, yanking me up off the ground like I’m a rag doll. He covers my mouth and keeps me from looking at him. I scream and kick and struggle. To no prevail of course. And his wonderful friend, who blindfolded the boy and two kids, a boy and a girl, decide to do the same to myself. Because I am such a fighter, they bound my arms and legs and throw me into the van. And when I saw throw, I mean it. “Ouch,” I exclaim, and I hear the guy grunt in pain. “Oh, sorry,” I add, frowning. “It’s fine; it’s not like you had any choice,” he guy grumbles back in a smooth, deep voice. “You okay?” “I could be in the story buying tinsel and pens and then going home, being happy and celebrating Christmas, but no, I decided to be a helpful person,” I gripe angrily. “So, yeah, I’m great.” “No need to catch a hissy fit,” he scowls, or at least I think, “because it’s not like you had to help us.” “Gee, I was just trying to be a nice person and help you out,” I argue. “Besides, you seem like a new kid in town, and I don’t like it when new kids get pushed around, but obviously this so didn’t help.” “Yeah, maybe you could have done the sensible thing and ran for help, not call out and then run away,” he tells me and I can practically hear the eye roll in his voice. “I’m Chris, by the way,” he adds, “with a C, not a K.” “I hope your last name isn’t Kringle,” I smirk, and he chuckles. “No, it’s Davis, and what is your name?” “Christina Kringle,” I tell him, giggling slightly, but the giggling stops when the van does. I’m thrown back and I believe I, once again, hit the guy, Chris. He grunts in pain and I fall onto him, and I have no idea where the two kids are now that I think about it. I haven’t heard a squeak from either of them since I first saw them. I wish I could see the little ones. They are probably terrified. “Get them out,” a gruff voice says in the front of the van, scaring me to death. He sounds like a freaky monster. I move off Chris and reach for his hand or someone’s hand to hold onto because of that voice. It is so scary, like one out of my scariest nightmares. Someone’s hand clasps onto both of mine that are tied together, and it’s a tiny one at that, so it must be one of the kids. After I give the tiny hand a slight squeeze, the door opens and I’m pulled away from the hand, and I hear a slight squeak from the owner of the hand. I don’t know who is carrying me or where I am, and I really don’t like being taken from a normal life. After what seems like forever, my blindfold and restraints are taken away along with being carried. As I look around, I find myself in a room with Chris, the two kids, and two other teenagers around thirteen or fourteen. What a wonderful way to start December, captured by two loons who thinks it’s fun to mess with kids’ lives and Christmas. “Chris?” I ask, moving over to him, looking around to spot no one except us. “What are we doing here?” “Good question, Christina,” he answers. The two little kids are close to him, and the little girl grabs my hand. I quickly recognize that she was the one that held my hand earlier and I scoop her up in my arms. “That’s Sophie,” he tells me, “she’s my little sister, and this is Karson, my little brother and her twin.” Now that he says this, I realize how similar the three look. The girl has straight black hair and the boys have slightly curly blonde, but that’s the only difference between them. They all have blue eyes, similar facial structure, everything is practically the same. Hell, Karson looks like a little clone to Chris. And, if I do say so myself, Chris is very handsome. “I’m Carol,” one of the teens blurt out, “and this is Gabriel,” she adds, motioning to the boy. “Do you know where we are?” Chris asks them, since I’m too scared out of my mind. Why? Because who would take these kids when their families are scared. My family is probably worried sick. I mean, yeah, I have my phone, but I know that if I grabbed it and tried to call my parents or Holly, the freaky guy who brought us here would probably walk in and be like, “Ha, nice try,” take it, and break it. Yeah, I’m not going to do that. “All I know is that we’re out of Holiday Village,” Carol replies timidly, sadness washing over her face. At the look of confusion on Chris’s face, she adds, “Our home, where all of us live.” “The town you just moved to, Jingle Ville, is called Holiday Village, because it just sounds better and fits our town theme,” I explain, shrugging. Yes, our town is named Jingle Ville. Don’t ask me why, because frankly, no one knows. We just know that it’s weird and we really hate the name. Though it’s not like we can automatically change the name. So, we just call our home Holiday Village. “Right,” he mumbles. “Okay, so who are these guys?” “Don’t know, though I heard one of them call the other Dave,” Gabriel finally speaks. He sounds extremely scared out of his mind. He is gripping Carol’s hand tightly, and she has her head on his shoulder, almost snuggling. Like they’re dating. God, wouldn’t it suck that you have a date and having a great time and suddenly, you and your date are kidnapped? This just gets worse and worse. And I didn’t even have to be here, I just tried to be a good person and help, but obviously that didn’t work. “What did you guys do to be here?” I hear Carol ask, but I’m too focused on the crying child in my arms. I don’t know when Sophie started crying, but it breaks my heart to feel her sobbing into my chest. “I don’t know,” Chris admits, “but I know that Christina over there was trying to help us before she got caught too.” I nod slightly, meanwhile cooing to the child in my arms, telling her she will be home before Christmas. Because she has to be home by Christmas, she has to go back to her family. She’s so precious and small; she’s got to be seven at the most. And, really, what sick man kidnaps seven year old girls? Why would someone kidnap children, especially for what seems like no reason at all? It really sickens me to know all this. What the hell? After what feels like hours of silence except for the sniffles of Sophie and my comforting murmurs, we finally hear a voice. “Alright,” I hear that scary, gruff voice say. “It’s time for a little dinner. Eat up.” The man walks in, and I look up only to find myself scared out of my mind. His voice is scary as hell, sure, but he seriously looks like a buff version of Jason or Freddy Kruger, or both. He actually is so scary; I really don’t want to describe him. But, to say the least, he looks like a human-sized Hulk without the green and the fact that he’s uglier. Like, a lot. I hold Sophie tight so she won’t look up, and then he leaves. He left six plates of…I don’t know what that is. It looks like mush. Just a big glob of mush, that’s what I see. “No one’s really going to eat that right?” I ask, staring at the repulsing food. I look around and Sophie sticks her head out, her eyes red as can be, and quickly hides her face when she sees the food. Looks like I’m not the only one who is repulsed by that…whatever it is. “I think I’ll pass,” Carol mumbles, her face turning a sickly green at the sight. I look around the room, searching for a trashcan on some sort. The room has five beds, one for each person, except since I showed up out of the blue, there’s one missing, which makes me think they were seriously planning it. There’s an adjoined bathroom, thank goodness, but I don’t see any type of shower or bath. There’s a sink, and that’s pretty much it. And, really, it’s rather small with all of us, plus the beds, in the room. “I don’t hear any takers so,” I say, my voice trailing off as I pick Sophie up, as she’s not very heavy, as I stand and grab a plate. The mush looks horrible and I walk towards the sink. I see a garbage disposal, so I turn on the water and the disposal and dump the mush down the drain. Another plate comes to my side and I see Chris and Karson holding the rest of the plates. I dump the mush away, and quickly it’s down the drain and out of sight. “Thanks,” I mumble as I shut off the water and Karson gives me what I believe is a grin, but it looks more like a grimace. “Yeah, welcome,” Chris shrugs. “What time is it, do you know?” he asks everyone, though still looking at me. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and look no service, and it’s almost nine. Once I tell this to everyone, and that I have no service, they nod, and Chris picks Sophie out of my arms. “They need to get to sleep,” he tells me, walking Karson to one of the beds. He and Sophie share a bed since they are small enough and everyone else has their pick at a bed. Gabriel and Carol pick the beds closest to each other and they hold hands as they lie in bed, murmuring to each other. They really must be a couple. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle their love for long. Chris takes the bunk bed and climbs onto the bottom bunk, and the bunk bed is close to the twin’s bed, and I have no choice but to pick the top bunk. With that, everyone goes to sleep, that is, except me. I constantly look at my phone, watching the battery and the time tick away. Once it hits midnight, I can’t help myself but shut my phone off and turning over to my side. “Twenty-four days until Christmas,” is the last thing I mutter before falling asleep. ~•~•~•~ I wrote a one-shot and I realized it was crap. xD And since I'm going to start this story over next year, I feel like I should just go ahead and post the first, and currently only, chapter and see if it's good enough for this competition.