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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Scott on December 5, 2010
"Okay, okay. I will admit that this is a cynical view at the shopping experience. I don't much care for shopping and at this time of the year, the feeling is worse. Keep in mind this is NOT a dig against Christmas."

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The music blares over the loud speaker, advising that this is "The most wonderful time of the year!" As I walk through the crowded aisles, I see mothers tugging on their child's arm, kids pointing to random items and shouting, "I want that! And that! And that!"

I shake my head in wonder. The most wonderful time of the year, indeed. In this store, I have seen people shoving others to get to the latest hot ticket item. The looks on their faces reminiscent of a racecar driver preparing to barrel down the track at over a hundred miles an hour, the checkered flag being their only focus.

I hear a couple talking about Christmas, excuse me- holiday- cards. "Here's a pack with 20, that should be enough, right?" queries the man.

"Well, that depends. Last year we had 17 on our list, but then ended up getting a lot more from the relatives in Florida."

"Florida? Who do we know in Florida?"

"Oh, I think they are on my mother's side. You met them, like four years ago at the last reunion."

Another couple is trying to determine what they have bought for little Susie, and does that compare to what little Bobby got? No, Bobby got that big present, we better make sure we get Susie one, too. Have to be even or the little kiddie's feelings might get hurt.

I find the few items I need and head for the checkout line. Whatever happened to the presents of "peace on earth, goodwill to men"? What happened to teaching kids that Christmas is about the gift of Jesus to mankind? Or, at the very least, that Christmas is a time for thinking of others?

As I leave the store, I see a man in uniform ringing a little gold bell. I turn and walk over. Digging around in my pocket, I find whatever change I have and sheepishly drop it in the bucket.

"I'm sorry it's not more," I say, embarrassed.

He smiles back. "Sir, that is the best present I've seen today. Merry Christmas."

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