Miracle Dust

“Another great year,” Claus bellowed, stretching his legs and cracking his knee joints.  “I always wonder, year after year, whether this is the one when I won’t make it…Thank you Dix, I wouldn’t have managed without your miracle dust, you know that right?”

Dixie smiled a sad smile and sighed a high-pitched sigh. Continue reading


My face turns into fifty shades of red candles

As, troubled, I look at the price tag.

When did Christmas get to cost so much?

Shouldn’t the focus be on peace, happiness and such?

This weekend, Trifextra asked us to write about our thoughts on the holiday season.  My thoughts on the subject are plenty, I love the holidays, as I have explained at length in Christmas is Here.  But now, with Christmas being so close, and my wallet having had the worst spasm since I bought my apartment, I am rethinking the whole season.  This post is actually inspired by The Gift of Giving…Not! A poem which I so inconveniently posted yesterday!

The Gift of Giving…Not!

The blinking lights hypnotize me into submission.

The jingling monotone of the carols hurry me

into hasty decisions,

anything to make this stop.

Freezing fingers and misty breath do nothing to help.

Crowds push against me. Choking.

Bulky bags; everyone here is as much the victim.

My weightless load gets lighter,

as I pull out my wallet

and buy yet another gift.


The Mayan Countdown, 21/12/12: Scenario Two

Elsewhere on the little island, at the harbour where the ferry that transports people to the closest international border was now berthed, a fight was brewing.  Five thousand people where pressing against each other on a dock that would fit a hundred and fifty.  Some had already fallen inside the dark, cold waves and were now floundering, trying to get footing on the overcrowded dock. They weren’t drowning; the islanders could swim as well as they could breath. Continue reading

The Mayan Countdown, 21/12/12: Scenario One

“Whoa! Peter Jackson really did it this time,” said Mario amid flushed cheeks.

“I can’t get the dwarf song out of my head,” muttered Pierre more to himself than to his friends, as was his way.

“Richard Armitage is so hot! I feel dizzy though,” put in Francesca while feeling her forehead.

“I told you, forty-eight frames per second is going to be awesome,” replied Mario talking hurriedly.

“I said I’m dizzy, how is that awesome!” Continue reading


It had been two weeks, two days and three hours since she had last heard his voice and his words still reverberated against her eardrums, spun through her head and shook her inside her core.

She spent the day alone like the preceding sixteen, surfing the net and flipping through channels.  Christmas was everywhere and Elvis’ one song that mattered was playing on loop, but it was not making her feel any better at all.  But neither had the Oreos, the crisps or the cigarettes.

The phone rang. Continue reading

Hate Mail

Dear Madam or Sir,

Or whoever you are who invented the mini-Santas; those mindless abominations that have invaded my country and attached Santa 3themselves to every balcony on the island, spreading like plague of shallow taste and mediocrity.

You corporate junky, sitting in your office somewhere, swimming in your profits, getting rich out of exploiting the commercialization of the once-beautiful and simple holiday; laughing at the gullible populace, buying the identical, stupid miniatures of an obese, pagan phenomenon entitled as a saint.  Couldn’t you have chosen flying angels? They are at least pretty. Continue reading