Short-Story-Writing-Exercises-old

Group: Short Story Writing Exercises - old

Exercize: Oh you better watch out.

You have been a very bad girl/boy. You are sitting on Santa's lap. Explain to him why you had trouble being a good kid, why he still needs to visit your house and why he should still give you what you want for Christmas.


Deborah Boydston

7th December 2011


Merry Christmas, Joe, wherever you are.

I know when I’ve been bad and good, and for goodness sake, don’t mistake “bad” for “good”.
It was two nights before Christmas. The rest of the crew at work were going to stop at The Vapor Trails, a nearby pub, for a few beers. I called home and said I’d be a little late. I didn’t say I was going to stop and have a few beers with the gang.
So I was bad. So sue me.
It was nearly eleven when I left the Vapor Trails. I knew that I would catch hell when I got home. There were a million things to do at home and I had left 999,999 of them for my wife to do. Wrap gifts, clean house, string lights, all of those Christmas things that kids love and adults eventually grow to dislike. By the time my youngest child was 7, I was starting to get a Bah Humbug attitude about Christmas holidays.
So the trepidation that I feared to face was worrisome as I walked out to my truck that night, two nights before Christmas.
A friend named Joe was walking with me, getting ready to get in his car. I guess he noticed the dogpan look on my chops.
“What’s the matter, Don, are you OK?”
“Oh, I’m OK, I guess,” I said.
“You don’t look OK.”
“I’ll be all right,” I said. “I just hate going home and facing the music. I should have been home hours ago.”
“I’ll go with you and explain,” he said.
“I’m not sure my wife will accept any explanations, particularly from the guys I’ve been drinking with for the past 6 hours.”
“Well, it can’t hurt anything, I’ll try to smooth it over for you.”
I was too worried about the coming consequences to argue.
We drove to my house, he in his car and me in my truck. Fortunately we didn’t get stopped by the police on the way, neither of us could have passed the sobriety check. (I’ve learned my lesson, reformed my life, and do not do stupid things like drinking and driving anymore.)
The light in my living room was on so I knew my wife would still be up waiting for me to come home.
Joe got out of his car and walked to the door with me. I opened the door and held it open for Joe to come in. He followed me inside.
“Hi,” he told me wife.
“MMM…” is all I heard her say.
“I just want to tell you what happened,” Joe said.
Silence.
“It’s all my fault,” he said.
More silence.
“Here’s how it happened,” he said. “I left work at the usual time, around 3:30. On my way out I passed a truck on the side of the road. ‘That looks like Don’s truck’ I said to myself.”
My wife is standing there with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot.
“As I passed the truck I thought, ‘that is Don’s truck’ and I stopped and got out of my car. The whole front end of Don’s truck was smashed in.”
My wife stopped tapping her foot and got a quizical look on her face. She glanced at me, then back at Joe.


Don Yarber

7th December 2011


“I went looking for Don,” Joe said. “He wasn’t in his truck so I was worried about him and I went looking for him. A hundred yards down the road from his truck I saw a bloody leg laying in the ditch by the side of the road.”
A quick glance at my legs by my wife.
“I walked another fifty yards down the road and I found another bloody leg on the edge of the pavement.”
Her hands left her hips and she folded her arms in front of her. A befuddled look spread across her face.
“Then fifty yards further I found an arm on the road. It sure looked like Don’s arm, even had the same tattoo on it, an anchor with a chain. U.S. Navy, it read.”
A twitch appeared on my wife’s face. The befuddled look had started to fade, replacing it was just a blank stare with a slight twitch.
“A little bit further I found another arm. It was Don’s arm all right. I recognized his watch. It was the same Timex watch he’s been wearing since I’ve known him.”
I looked at my watch. It was now 11:30.
“I walked on down the road with my flashlight shining from side to side,” Joe said. “And lo and behold, way on down the road I saw something that looked like a head. I ran to it as fast as I could run. When I got close I realized it was a head! It had brown hair, and blue eyes. It looked like Don! I held it up close and shined my light on it and I recognized that little scar on Don’s lip. It WAS Don!”
A puzzled look spread across my wife’s face. I figured by now she would have kicked Joe out and cussed at me all the way to the bedroom, but she just stood there, arms folded in front of her, waiting.
“I smoothed back the hair on that head, took my handkerchief and wiped the blood off of it, then I leaned over and spoke right in it’s ear. ARE YOU HURT DON?”

My wife laughed so hard she danged near peed her pants.
That was Joe’s story, and I’m sticking to it.
I think Santa will still come to see me. After all, I stayed up till 4 that morning wrapping presents and cleaning house. I felt good. It’s great what a friend will do for a guy.


Don Yarber

7th December 2011


Santa, you've got the magic snowball, so you already know what happened. Tommy shot first - you saw him. What was I supposed to do? I mean, c'mon, with all those Nerf guns you gave me last Christmas, I figured you wanted me to be able to defend myself! And tell my mom to stop freaking out about the couches getting tipped over. We both know I needed a fort to defend myself.
Oh, and about Sparky - you know, my dog - look, it's only hair. It'll grow back. And it's not like my dad uses his shaver anyways.
And could you tell my teacher, Ms. Penelope that the super glue incident was just an honest mistake? I didn't mean to stick Johnny's hands to his face. Just a "what if" scenario gone wrong.
Thanks, Santa! Glad we had this talk.


Justin Regier

7th December 2011


Funny Justin thanks for submitting. I enjoyed reading it.


Deborah Boydston

8th December 2011


Santa, I'm very sorry for my poor behavior recently. I have not been a good kid. I cut the heads off my dolls and I always laugh at my older brother. But I was only a bored kid. It wasn't my intention to be bad. I cut up my dolls and stuffed animals because no one else would play with me and they were old anyway. And as for my brother, Santa, well, he bullies me all the time. He tells me what to do and always gets me in trouble. So I think he deserved to be pushed around my me for just this once. That's why I think you should come to my house, still, because I apologized to them, eventually. I didn't mean any of it. And though I still hold some resentment towards my brother and get bored rather frequently, I now try to find something else to do. I think I should still get what I want for Christmas because you are a saint to all children, and I could never destroy my gifts sent to me by you.


Taylor Clay

29th December 2011


Thanks for responding to the exercise Taylor, you did a good job. Only thing I saw was one mistake. In the line "So I think he still deserved to be pushed around my me...." you probably meant "to be pushed around by me". Still nice work.


Deborah Boydston

29th December 2011


thank you :). Sometimes I type fast and forget to check for my mistake.


Taylor Clay

5th January 2012


Your welcome, we always try to be helpful on ScribeSlice. Keep up the good work. By the way I sometimes do the same thing.


Deborah Boydston

5th January 2012


Listen Santa, you really scared the hell out of me when I was a kid, did you know that? No? What? Please don't tear up. I know you had no intention of doing that to a small child. I think it was the red and white velvet outfit that threw me off, not so much the idea of a large man squeezing down a chimney. Yes, I remember you left me the big, furry, black, stuffed gorilla animal that looked like it wanted to swallow me. It was a nice gesture on your part, but I was thinking that now that I'm older we could start over again. I've learned more about you through the years and you know I've always been good, much better than my brothers or sister who gave my parents no end of grief.


Holli Harvey

16th January 2012


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