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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Scott on December 12, 2011
"This is something that I originally wrote about 8 years ago. I thought this would be a good piece for this prompt. I am not sure, though, if it would qualify as a "carol""

Christmas Carol- The Face of Christmas

He giggles as he watches his daddy and sister decorate the tree. The green, red, and orange lights dance in his wide eyes as he sits in mommy's lap. She bounces him on her knee, which makes him giggle all the more. He raises his head, watching daddy climb on a chair in order to put the star on the top of the tree. "The star reminds us of the star that led the magi to baby Jesus," Daddy says. Sister comes over, shakes her hair in his face, and shows him the ornament she made in Sunday school last year. "This year, I'm gonna make one for you to hang on the tree." He laughs as hard as he can; mommy and daddy smile. This is the face of Christmas.

She sits in the dark with a flashlight, looking at the presents. Here's one for dad, one for mom, oh, here's one for her. That makes ten total. Not bad, but two less than last year. She hears a creak on the stairs and snaps off the light. Oh, it's only Mr. Mittens, the family's fat white cat. "Well, there's still three more days till Christmas," she thinks. And besides, once Grammy and Grampy get here, well, there will definitely be more presents. She pats the packages trying to guess what's inside. "I hope I don't get all clothes this year." After all, how many years in a row can a little girl stand to get underwear from great-aunt Judy before she goes crazy? No, this year she had better get good gifts. This is the face of Christmas.

He walks down the crowded street, the wind whipping at his tattered coat. The sidewalk is lit by the multicolored lights that decorate the stores on the way. He walks, unnoticed, through the mob of people with their many packages. A lady drops a bag and items fall out. He stoops down to help, but she shoos him away with a look of disgust. He continues on toward the mission, his home for the night. He passes a store and spies his reflection in the darkened window. In the distance he hears carolers sing, "Tis the season to be jolly." He hangs his head in shame and walks on. This is the face of Christmas.

She gazes out the window into the night. All up and down the street, houses are lit with the colors of the season. That house has lights in the forms of two deer. The one over there has a star. Oh, look, even a menorah. Her house seems to be the only one without lights. Except for the single candle she has set on the windowsill. It is a tradition she has kept for the nearly thirteen years since her husband passed away. The kids couldn't make it this year, just like so many years before. She watches as snow falls silently to ground. A single tear crawls down her wrinkled cheek and drops silently to the floor. This is the face of Christmas.

A tiny baby lies crying in a feeding trough filled with hay. His mother, tired from her labor, looks on smiling, tears in her eyes. Her husband wipes the sweat from her brow and holds her hand. There are no colored lights, only a single shinning star. There are no carolers, only the lowing of the animals. There is no Christmas tree, only the promise of a cross in the future. There are no gifts, save for the little babe himself. This is the true face of Christmas.

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