Kreative Kue 240 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
“Why is that guy hanging on the wall there.”
“That’s not a guy. It’s St. Nicholas.”
“I still would like to know what he’s doing on the wall there.”
“I imagine he’s trying to gain access to that apartment through the window.”
“Seems like a hard way to go. Why not just go up the stairs and knock on the door?”
“You do know that St. Nick is supposed to come down the chimney, don’t you?”
“Yeah. That’s what makes this guy’s moves all the more particular.”
“Well. there is no chimney big enough for the old guy, so he is using the window.”
“Still seems odd.”
“Why? He is supposed to surprise everyone when we all find gifts under the tree in the morning.”
“You just said it.”
“In the morning. It’s barely past three in the afternoon. I thought St. Nick came at night.”
“Now, I get it. You think it is odd that St Nick is trying to enter that apartment in broad daylight?”
“You are pretty quick. Yes, that is what I’m saying.”
“So you think that guy is up to no good?”
“Yup. Way up.”
“I’ll dial the police. I must say, I never thought there was anything out of place with a St. Nick hanging on a wall.”
“Well, this is coming from someone who has the world’s biggest wooden nickel collection.”
“You wait. They will be valuable someday.”
“Like your salted gold mine stock.”
“That was cold.”
This from Na’ama Yehuda, who blogs at https://naamayehuda.com :
It was a quiet early hour at Headquarters.
Bernice was doing her nails. Bertrand had a foot perched on his desk and was clipping his toenails. Benny was (as always) squinting into one of his miniature rice grain paintings. Bella was snoring. Bonita was munching on crackers. Bruno was belittling Baron’s game-score. And Brittney, brittle as usual, was cradling the radio’s earphones even as she browsed the internet for interesting short film ideas.
Suddenly the switchboard sounded jingle bells and lit up in flashing green, red, and gold.
A Santa call!
In her fluttery rush to respond, Brittney almost dropped the microphone.
Bruno dove to save it. Those things were brilliant but brutally expensive. None of them wanted it docked from their pay for negligent breakage.
“North Pole,” he breathed into the mouthpiece.
“SOS! SOS!” The reedy voice could only be from one origin.
“Rudolph?!” Bruno rolled his eyes and hit the speaker button. The reindeer’s dramatic flair was brilliantly entertaining. “What are you doing on the radio? You’re know you’re not permitted.”
The radio screeched as Rudolph must have cranked the volume to its maximum.
“Shut up, shut up!! You moron! SOS! SOS!”
Bernice dropped her polish. Bertrand cursed. Benny’s rice grain rolled off the tray. Bella fell off her recliner. Bonita choked. Brittney fainted. Baron stared.
Rudolph was colorful but he was not prone to cursing.
Bruno’s cleared his throat.
“Sheesh, Rudy. Is it really an emergency?”
“Are you deaf? It’s an SOS!! Code Red. Code Red. Santa Off Sled. The darn temporary ladder that Brenda borrowed from Pottery Barn broke. Santa’s hanging by a thread! Send Feathered Fairy Fred!”
My effort was
Whilst rappelling down from my sleigh
To leave presents abroad on this day,
My elf shouted, “Look,
Ladder’ve fell from his hook!”
And I felt myself slipping away.
The ground started coming up fast
And I thought this year might be my last.
Then I saw that old light
And I hoped that it might
Catch my ladder and there hold me fast.
It did, and I hoped and I prayed
That the top of the rope wasn’t frayed.
My belief wasn’t wrong
The rope was well strong.
I should hope so, the price that I paid!
And then, in a stroke of pure luck
Along came a fire service truck.
I jumped on its ladder
(not too soon, with my bladder)
And climbed down as happy as Larry.
Who is this Larry? You say,
He’s my stand-in for Prancer today.
He crash-landed last year
Doesn’t have the all-clear
So he’s banished from pulling my sleigh.
You asked me and so I shall tell
No, my job doesn’t always go well.
It could oft-times be tragic
Without Santa’s magic
As the saying goes, “On that bombshell…”
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at email@example.com before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.