A Wizard's Christmas (4)
This is Prosody G.B. and quite good from what I can infer from this excerpt....Different from your earlier verse.You may have found your Style in this...
When you're ready I suggest you submit the work to Editor Don Williams at NEW MILLENIUM WRITINGS.There is a Web Page for this beautiful literary Journal.
Don is a friend of mine,having published three of my stories.....
John
When you're ready I suggest you submit the work to Editor Don Williams at NEW MILLENIUM WRITINGS.There is a Web Page for this beautiful literary Journal.
Don is a friend of mine,having published three of my stories.....
John
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wonderworker: This is Prosody G.B. and quite good from what I can infer from this excerpt....Different from your earlier verse.You may have found your Style in this...
When you're ready I suggest you submit the work to Editor Don Williams at NEW MILLENIUM WRITINGS.There is a Web Page for this beautiful literary Journal.
Don is a friend of mine,having published three of my stories.....
John
When you're ready I suggest you submit the work to Editor Don Williams at NEW MILLENIUM WRITINGS.There is a Web Page for this beautiful literary Journal.
Don is a friend of mine,having published three of my stories.....
John
Thanks J. for the recommendation. It's been awhile since I've written prose so thanks for the kind words. The main thing is that I'm writing again, prompted by Joli reading my as-yet unpublished novel, and the characters in that have prompted some new ideas.
Thanks again.
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Galactic_bodhi:
“I was a good girl this year, Santa.”
“I was a good girl this year, Santa.”
I realized that she didn‘t even see the man in red on whose lap she sat. The demon.
What she saw was me. She saw me. She saw me. My grey beard. The spectacles. And my hat. Never mind that it didn’t conform to the standard image of Saint Nick, to her, I was Kris Kringle.
“What’s this?” the demon growled. “I’m your Santa Claus. Do you want a Barbie doll this year?”
“No.” The little girl turned to the demon at that point and focused the power of her innocent faith on him. “I want my daddy to love me as much as Jesus does.”
“Where is your daddy, sweetie?” I asked. Her eyes returned to me.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes fell. “I just want him home.”
The parents and children were getting restless, something was going on they didn’t understand. The line to Santa had become congested by our astral confrontation, and they didn’t understand why. The crowd began to grumble.
“Raven.” I thought to my staff, “ I don’t think we have much time. This feels like it has the power of narrative behind it. What do you know about this little girl’s father?”
“Her name is Isabelle. Her father is…was, a soldier.” Raven replied, calling on the power of her poetic license. “Her mother is a nurse that fell in love with a patient. Her father is dead. He died of Gulf War Syndrome not many years after she was born.”
“Isabelle…” Her eyes grew wide when I said her name, like I was checking my list twice or something.
“Your father won’t be coming home sweetie.” I said “He does love you as much as Jesus does, I’m sure. He’s with Jesus now.”
“I know.” The little girl said, brightening. “Momma says the same thing.”
“He’s with Jesus and Santa knows I’ve been a good girl.” She turned to the demon and said, “Bad Santa! You should be ashamed.”
The demon in red and white sat with its mouth open in shock for a full thirty-seconds. “Of what?” It finally spluttered. The demon was losing its grip on the host in its confusion.
“You know.” She said archly, “You’re a bad Santa. That’s the real Santa.” And she pointed at me.
Out of the mouths of babes. Her faith had the power where a wizard like me only had fireworks.
The last vestiges of its control faded away as I became real to everyone, parents included. For one moment I became the magic that was their first kiss under the mistletoe, or their first Red-Rider BB-Gun. Not worrying about how it looked any longer, I let my light stream forth from my eyes as I spoke the words of banishment, the words spearing into his flesh, and the astral body that was the demon disappeared back into the darkness.
He became nothing but a tired old man in a rented suit filling a chair in a Mall.
“Thank you Santa,” the little girl said, and then a little indignantly, “He was really starting to bug me.”
I didn’t bother to tell her my name was really Simon, or that he was really starting to bug me too.
I gave my best HO-HO-HO, bowed, and smiling with a twinkle in my eye.
I suppose…things went back to normal for the rest of the world. Normal wasn’t really part of the vocabulary of a 400 year old wizard, so I can’t say where I ended up after that, but it was different than where I had been…and it’s got me thinking.
Agatha really liked the ring I got her. The stone is a diamond that I crushed in the heart of the sun myself. It wasn’t easy. But then, love never is.
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A Wizard's Christmas
I didn't feel much like a Magi out of the Nativity.
I had walked the greyland too much in my unnaturally long
life, and the grey was now in my beard, and the little
fringe that was all that was left of my hair. Centuries,
and yet, I was still vital, and alive.
Was it luck of the Irish, or sheer stubborn will? Nobody
knew, least of all me.
My rod was alabaster, not gold, and smelled of attar, not
frankencense. There was no wisdom in trafficking with the
dead, even if it was for the sake of the living, and
sometimes, for their everlasting souls.
You couldn't do these things and remain unchanged.
But this was a Christmas that made a difference, somehow.
Something happened, that, well...changed a few things, or
changed them even more, anyway.
A wizard gets used to things, and the change changes, and
we come full circle, where we all started, unless we can
embrace the forgiveness and charity that Christmas
represents. And this is how I learned that...
Raven and I were at the mall. Before you ask, Raven is not
a bird, it is the spirit of poetry that I had bound to my
staff. Some might call her a sprite, or sylph, but really
she was the spirit of the holly tree from which the staff
was made.
She does not say "Nevermore!"
You have to understand, a bound spirit tends to get grumpy
at times, and holly leaves were sprouting from the head of
my staff as her foul mood manifested itself.
"You will NOT buy that purse for Agatha!" she said
emphatically. "Honestly, Simon, you have no taste
whatsoever."
"I don't see what's wrong with it." I protested. "It's not
like she goes out in public much anyway. A witches' bag
should be practical, I say."
"C'mon Simon, seriously?" The onery piece of holly
complained, "Camoflauge?"
"Well, I thought..." I shrugged, putting the purse back
into the bin where I'd found it. "You know. She's in the
woods all the time, and..."
"And what? She'd need to accessorize in the wilderness?"
"Well..." Females, it didn't matter what species or origin, always seem to have a way of defying conventional logic with a brand all their own. She had a point, although I was damned if I could figure out how she had arrived at it.
"Okay, okay. I'll find something else." I said giving in.
And that's when I felt it.
The presence of evil incarnate, the anti-light, a demon, somewhere...
Somewhere close by. And it was calling to me; like sending someone a message on a pager or cell phone, on a plane that the electromagnetic force only dreamed about in its dirty little night-time imagination.