Posts Tagged ‘Christmas gift’

Today’s Christmas story is from 2008, the penultimate before I share my story from this year with there will be a narrated version has been added for those who like to listen rather than read.


It had started like a distant rumble of thunder, which had grown into the roaring of a hundred jet engines. The trees, then the whole earth seemed to shake from the full force of the wind.

She had begged her husband to leave before the hurricane hit, to just save themselves. He had told her the wind would die down, the boarded house would be fine, and the water would soon go. That was before the roof began to peel off the top of the house, like a giant pealing back the skin of an orange. That was when the panic had set in. Looking back, several months later, the images of that night still sent shivers through her body. Like still photos sliding across her mind, the sound, the fear, the destruction all seemed so fresh. Hanging onto each other hoping this was not to be their last moment on earth.

They had been found many hours later in what was left of their home, still in the same position. Numb with shock and the impact of what had happened, the rescuers had taken them to an overnight shelter. That night rolled into days, and days into weeks.

Their whole world had gone, in just a few small hours there was nothing left of what once was their home and their future.

When she had eventually been allowed back to the broken timbers of the smashed building where they had planned their future together, it was like a giant hand had taken their lives and emptied them… there was nothing left.

After a few months, a family member had provided a caravan for them to live in.This was parked in what once was their driveway. Her husband’s workplace no longer existed, vanished in that terrible night. After some time, he had found work in another state, many miles away, leaving her to pick amongst the pieces of their lives and wait for whatever would happen next.

The alarm woke her from her sleep, she shuddered the cold creeping through the ill fitting windows of the mobile home. At least she had a roof over her head, more than many she thought, reaching for the kettle and hoping there was still water in the tank and she would not have to make the trip to fill the water container again.

Lighting the small gas ring she put on the kettle for a hot drink. Looking out the window she could not believe her eyes, it had snowed overnight, the ground was covered in a quilt of white.

A while later she sat sipping her coffee, wondering how her husband was getting on, hoping he might be able to make it home for Christmas. Christmas … some Christmas this was going to be.

After clearing up and making her bed… “No excuse for not caring” she had told herself when first they had moved into the caravan. She went outside to see if things looked any better under the curtain of white.

At least it hid what was left of their home, broken timbers, the scarred surfaces, all was now smooth and white. Something made her look down.

There in front of her was a set of prints in the snow. Too large for a cat, not that of a dog… sort of hoof like. She shrugged “Oh well good luck to them finding any food around here.”

Her mobile phone rang. It was her husband, her mood brightened at the sound of his voice. He had some great news, his company was going to rebuild the factory, and they wanted him to help work on the new design. He was coming home!

A silent prayer of thanks was said, he was coming home.

Throughout the rest of the morning she worked on what she could do to try and make this Christmas special for her and her husband. Despite everything, they would be together and that was a start. She was in the process of writing a list of items that she needed to try and purchase to turn their mobile accommodation, in a home when there was a knock at the door.

A man stood there, a smile on his face and an envelope offered towards her.

“I think this might cheer up your holiday plans” he said handing her the envelope.

She went inside and opened the envelope, it was a check, a very large check, the insurance had finally come through. Now, they could get on with their lives, rebuild their future.

She tried to contact her husband to let him know the good news, but could get no reply.

What a day, first her husband coming home, with a new job, now the insurance money.

Her hand brushed a small bell that lay on the table, something they had found amongst the rubble of their home. Christmas, yes, it was all part of Christmas, and this year she would make sure it would be one they would never forget.

She rang the bell again, and again, ring… ring.. ring…

She struggled through the tangled web of her dream, only to surface into reality. It had all been a dream, a wonderful dream, but just a dream all the same. She looked out the window, hoping to see the white covering of snow that had been there in her dream. But all she saw was the scarred debris of what had been left after the hurricane had hit.

Sighing she put on the kettle and opened the door to greet the day. Her eyes caught site of some prints in the mud in front of her, too large for a cat and not that of a dog, sort of hoof like.

It couldn’t be, could it? And her mobile phone rang.

Click the microphone to hear the story narrated by the author


BARRY EVA (Storyheart)
Author of Young Adult Romance/Fiction book
“Across the Pond”


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Today’s Christmas Story is from 2003, a story with a slightly different twist. I was also asked if I could add the narrated version, so if you want to hear that just click the microphone at the end of the story. (will be added Friday)

He hit the turn off button on the TV remote, then reached up and wiped away a tear that was rolling down his cheek with the back of his hand. That dam film, every time he saw it, the same thing, each “Good old Savings and Loan” each “Zo Zo’s petal’s” each “every time a bell rings and angel gets their wings.”

He had seen the film a hundred times before, yet he still got churned up by it. How many times he thought, as another tear threatened to roll down his cheek, how many time had he said he would never watch it again? Yet every Christmas, it was repeated, and he watched it with the same effect.

He stood up and reaching for the now empty beer can, and with his dirty plate took them into the kitchen. Adding the plate to the pile of, “I’ll wash them in the morning” dishes in the sink.

“Dam” he said to himself again. “Dam, dam, dam Christmas”

Shop windows yelling at you to come and spend your money, bright lights, singing, receiving cards from people you don’t know and being with your family.

He laughed, some chance, being with his family. He had not spoken to his parents since the day he stormed out of the house, and out of their lives. Once too often they had said no, and he had said yes, once too often they had argued, and this time there had been no turning back. That had been three years ago.

“Oh well.” he thought looking at the clock, he would make his was to the bar, and see in Christmas with people who new his name. He would have some fun, and might even get a kiss or two under the mistletoe. One certain person, who might be there to give him a kiss and make him smile.

Just before one in the morning fumbling with his key he opened the door to his small bed-sit. The evening had been good, memories were only slightly blurred by the sweet red wine, and he had managed to kiss the one person he hoped would remember him in the morning.

He stumbled into his bedroom and crashed out on the bed.

Sleep came very quickly helped by the evening’s alcohol intake, and with sleep came the dreams. It was like a muddle of all the Christmas films rolled into one, wondering what life would be like if he had not been born, and then flash backs to Christmas past. His parent’s faces, and the joy of the family Christmas’s from the past.

He woke in the morning, his dreams wrecked across the tumbled sheets of his bed, like so many ships lost on a stormy sea. He woke with the resolution that he must speak to his family. Christmas was a time for forgiving after all. He poured himself some orange-juice and thought about he had to do. For some reason he wanted to have a shower first, he did not want to make the call to his parents in the disheveled state he was currently in.

Thirty minutes later, feeling more alive he shakily picked up the phone and dialed their number. His mother answered the phone.

“Hi Mom, this is Tony”
He heard his Mom catch her breath, then the sound off the phone being dropped.
His father must have picked the phone up.
“Hello” came the gruff voice of his Father that even now almost made him put the phone down.
“Hi Dad, this is Tony, Happy Christmas.”
There was a pause.
“Sorry, you must have the wrong number.” Came the reply, then the line went dead.

Slowly he put down the phone, and wiped a tear from his eye. “Dam, dam, dam Christmas.” he shouted.

Some time later, with his second cup of coffee, he sat pondering in the kitchen.

At least this year he had tried, had made the first move.

Perhaps next year he thought. Perhaps next year his parents would accept him, accept him for what he was. Accept him and hopefully his new boyfriend.

Another year and they might understand he had different feelings to most other men, might realize that not matter what he was their son, and he loved them.

Click the microphone to hear the story narrated by the author


BARRY EVA (Storyheart)
Author of Young Adult Romance/Fiction book

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