Santa had flown all night, despite having the flu. Somewhere in Tulsa he instructed Don Fabio, his chief elf, to deliver the toys—strictly taboo—while Santa shivered and moaned on the sleigh’s floorboards.
There was a ruckus below. Glass shattered. Words were exchanged. Don Fabio never returned.
Santa pulled himself into the seat and snapped the reigns. The sleigh groaned and popped as the reindeer leapt over an alley and landed atop another set of track houses. Santa slouched down, took a swig of cocoa, and gently punched the knee of Lord Willy, his newly-promoted chief elf. “You’re up.”
[Note: Boise Weekly holds a “Fiction 101” contest each year. The rules are simple: write a short story in exactly 101 words. While I have never entered the contest, I write these Fiction 101’s to kill time at work.]
3 comments:
Miles wants to know what floorboards are? And I am thinking, "really"? this is the only problem you have with this short story. Go figure.
I think it is a winner Mike, you should submit it!
Larry
I am putting in an official plea for another blog entry! I desperately need laughs now that the agony of grad school has, once again, picked up its slow erosion of my soul.
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