Dear Santa

Money: the route of all problems.  When it came to special occasions and holidays; Catherine and Brad had to count their pennies carefully.

They ran into some financial troubles in the past year when she was in a head on collision that caused her to be in the hospital for two weeks.  Shortly after the pricey bill arrived, Brad’s mother passed away suddenly, leaving them to pay for all the arrangements.

Christmas was nearly three weeks away and Catherine wanted nothing more than to give their daughter, Ava, what she wished for.  However, Ava wouldn’t show or tell them what was on her list for Santa Claus.  “It’s a secret” she’d tell them.  Catherine told her that in order for Santa to receive her letter in time, they’d have to seal it in an envelope and mail it to the North Pole after school that day.

Ava’s laundry was sitting in a basket in the hallway, and with thirty minutes to spare before needing to pick up her daughter, Catherine decided to put them in the proper place.  Maybe she’d find the letter hiding somewhere in her bedroom.  When nothing turned up in Ava’s dresser drawers or her closet, Catherine decided to check her bookshelf.  Between two Christmas books, there was the treasured letter folded in half.

Dear Santa,

          I really don’t want any gifts this year.  The thing that I want most in the whole wide world is for mommy and daddy to stop fighting.  I don’t know if you can make this happen, but it would make me happy.

          Love, always

          Ava

Catherine’s heart melted.  To know that their arguing was being heard by their seven year old daughter was foolish.  Were her and her husband bad parents for not realizing this was affecting Ava? 

“Honey?”  Her husband’s voice came from the hallway.

Catherine wiped away the tears from her eyes and cheeks before answering, “I’m in Ava’s room!”

Once Brad was visible in the doorway, she spoke, “We need to have a discussion on what our daughter wrote in her letter to Santa.”

He took the letter in his hand and let out a sigh of regret after reading it.  “We’ll make this right.”  Brad embraced her tightly.

Ava’s unhappiness would have continued to gone unnoticed if it wasn’t for the piece of paper with their daughter’s handwriting.  It was an eye opener.  Without it, they would have carried on their oblivious behavior. 

 ~~~~

A child writes a letter to Santa asking him for something other than toys.  What is it? Describe in 500 words or less. *406*

Parting Ways

Dear Writer’s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me.  Screw it, let’s be honest, it’s all you.  I’ve been suffocating for too long and it’s time for me to breathe.  I’ve dealt with you pestering me every minute of every day for years and I finally came to the realization that I don’t deserve the aggravation.  Enough is enough.  Parting ways is for the best; for my work and my sanity.  I’ll finally be able to spread my wings and explore all opportunities that are available to me.

You can’t stop this break-up; it’s happening whether you like it or not!  I never want you to try to revisit me again.  Why?  If it wasn’t clear already – you’ve made me unhappy.  I deserve happiness and I can’t get that with you nagging me daily.  You’re toxic and need to be removed from my life.

I’m sorry that I didn’t do this sooner.  I can imagine the amount of manuscripts I would have written by now!

Sincerely,

Aly

~~~~~~

It’s time for you and Writer’s Block to part ways. Write a letter breaking up with Writer’s Block, starting out with, “Dear Writer’s Block, it’s not you, it’s me … .” (500 words or less).*166

Troubles

"Well, I really do hate you," I said sternly.

Monica stared at me, not sure of what to say.  Call me blunt, but I just did not give a damn anymore!

"What you did was inexcusable," I continued to say.  "I can't even look at you."  I turned my back towards her and shuffled papers that were on the entry table in the small hallway.

I could rip her to pieces right now, I thought.  My blood was boiling, my cheeks were getting flushed.  "I never thought in a million years that you would do that to me."  I turned around quickly to face Monica again.

Monica decided to sit in the love seat.  "I don't want this to jeopardize our friendship. I'm sorry."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you did it.  As far as I know, this friendship is through.  Ten years down the drain because of you."

I watched closely to see if I would get any kind of emotion from her - but there wasn't any.  She wasn't sorry.  They never are, I thought.

"I will make it up to you, Sarah.  I promise."  She couldn't even look me in the eye.

"I won't hold my breath on that one.  Don't make promises you can't keep.  You need to get help."

Monica stood silent.

"I can't trust you anymore.  This problem is getting out of control.  I have a bank account statement to prove it."

And then, from the corner of her eye, a tear fell down her cheek.  "I don't know how the gambling got out of hand,” she admitted quietly.  “I thought it was under control.  I never meant to steal $5,000 from you."  She made eye contact with me.  "You're the only one who has ever been there for me.  I need you.  I can't do this alone."

She looked at me for a response.  But I didn’t give her one.

Monica waited.  I honestly did not know what to say or do. 

I felt horrible.

*Writing Prompt: In under 500 words, start your story with “Well, I really do hate you”.

Deadly

She told me she was never going to die from it.

                As I stood over her grave on that November morning, I couldn’t help but let out a sigh.  “Auntie, you were wrong.”  I hope she was listening.  I hope she knew how much pain I was in.  I wished things turned out differently.  But, she was too stubborn, it was sickening.

                I sat down in the grass.  A light breeze blew through my hair.  “I have to get going soon, but I wanted to visit you for a bit because it’s the twenty-third.  Happy sixty-third birthday.”

                My thoughts went back to a day when we had one of our many disagreements.  I made a quick stop over to her apartment to bring her some groceries.  There was a special at the local supermarket and I figured I’d pick up a few extra items for her.  She lived by herself and did not have a car, so I tried to help her as much I could.

                “Is there by any chance you could do me another favor, Shelly?” Aunt Mary asked.

                I put the last two cans of chili into one of the cabinets and answered, “Well, it depends on what the favor is.”

                Aunt Mary was in her bathrobe, sitting on the sofa, reading a book.  “Could you run by the gas station to buy me a pack of Marlboro’s?”

                I sat down at the kitchen table.  “No.”

                “You don’t have to pay for it.  I have the money.”

                “You know how I feel about it.  I won’t support your habit.  By picking it up for you, I’m supporting it.”  I looked at her to see her expression.

                “Are you going to be like this forever?”

                Without hesitating, I said, “Yes.  And, I’m not apologizing because I shouldn’t be sorry for something I believe in.”

                She let out a big sigh and she rolled her eyes.  That was my cue to be on my way, so I stood up and grabbed my jacket and told her I’d see her over the weekend.

                That memory reminded me of what I did for her a couple days before Christmas last year.  I stopped by her apartment after I got out of work and I told her I had something for her.  I told her to close her eyes and put out her hands.

I placed it in her palms and when she opened her eyes, she asked, “What is this?”

“It’s a Nicotine patch, Aunt Mary.  I want you to try it.”

“Well, I don’t want it.”  She handed it back to me and began walking to the kitchen.

“Why won’t you just try it?  Please, for me.”

“Because I have no intentions on quitting.  Just leave me alone about it.  Thank you, but no thank you.”

“You never once tried to quit.  There’s a first time for everything.  It will be good for you.”

Aunt Mary began putting away dishes.  It was her way of avoiding eye contact with me.  “I’ve been smoking since I was a teenager.  I’m not quitting now.  It’s pointless.”

“Why do you have to be so negative?”  I asked.  I threw the patch on the kitchen table.  “It’s time for you to quit.  Do you want to be on your death bed from chain smoking?”

“I’m not going to die from it.  Trust me.”  She turned to face me.  “I don’t want to argue.  I’m going to smoke.  Just deal with it.”

I realized tears were streaming down my face.  Aunt Mary barely ever went to the doctor’s.  The autopsy showed it was lung cancer.  If only she had quit when I told her too, maybe she would have had a few more years.

I wiped my tears and stood up.  I tried to collect myself before saying my last words.  “I still love you, Auntie.  I will always love and miss you.  I’m sorry that we spent a majority of the time arguing.  I want you to know that.”  I blew her a kiss.