Getting into the Christmas spirit, I've started writing short stories to be tucked in alongside gifts to the family. I figure I can do a half dozen in a month.
The first:
Gift of the Magi
By Musashi
The platinum fob chain glimmered in the shop window. Twenty one dollars.
clutching her purse, she pried it open and inspected the contents. One dollar and eighty seven cents and the next day it was Christmas. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim.
There were only two possessions they owned in which they took any pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.
She ran down the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." Della collected herself and entered.
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
The next morning, Jim gave her a package wrapped in plain paper. Opening it, she let out an ecstatic cry of joy chased quickly away by a wail. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshiped long in a Broadway window. The perfect combs to wear in her now vanished hair.
"But how did you afford..." Della stopped short, realizing what Jim had done. "You sold the watch to get the money to buy me combs, and I sold my hair to buy you a fob for your watch." She threw her arms around him, "What matters is that our gifts were given out of love"
Unfolding from her embrace, Jim checked the time on his watch. "I don't know why you sold your hair. I know a man from Macau who will pay good money for organs harvested from the homeless."
The first:
Gift of the Magi
By Musashi
The platinum fob chain glimmered in the shop window. Twenty one dollars.
clutching her purse, she pried it open and inspected the contents. One dollar and eighty seven cents and the next day it was Christmas. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim.
There were only two possessions they owned in which they took any pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.
She ran down the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." Della collected herself and entered.
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
The next morning, Jim gave her a package wrapped in plain paper. Opening it, she let out an ecstatic cry of joy chased quickly away by a wail. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshiped long in a Broadway window. The perfect combs to wear in her now vanished hair.
"But how did you afford..." Della stopped short, realizing what Jim had done. "You sold the watch to get the money to buy me combs, and I sold my hair to buy you a fob for your watch." She threw her arms around him, "What matters is that our gifts were given out of love"
Unfolding from her embrace, Jim checked the time on his watch. "I don't know why you sold your hair. I know a man from Macau who will pay good money for organs harvested from the homeless."
