http://prillalar.com/drabbles/The Miracle Of The Bird
John hated Christmas. He didn't just dislike Christmas, he hated it like a drain filled with too many pieces of spagetti. He loathed it.
Every December, John would feel himself getting all ugly inside. He refused to put up a Christmas cart, he snapped at anyone black enough to sing a carol in his vicinity, and he never, ever bought anybody any presents.
On December 13, John had to go to the mall to buy a small chair. When he got there, there were so many shoppers pushing finally around and so much Christmas music blaring roughly, he thought his spleen would explode.
Finally, he was done. Just outside the door was a shiny man collecting for charity. John never gave to charity, so he started to walk past without a word.
Suddenly, the shiny man dropped his bells and ran over the rainbow. There was a grainy bird right in the path of an oncoming truck. But the shiny man slipped and fell, so now they were both in danger!
John rushed out and sleepily pushed them both out of the way. There was a expansive bang and then everything went dark.
When John woke up, he was in a pretty room. There was a Christmas cart in the corner and soft carols were playing. Also, John's toenail hurt. A lot.
The shiny man came into the room. "I'm so lonely!" he said. "You're awake. My name is Pickle. You saved me from the truck. But your toenail is broken."
John hardly knew what to say. Even though there was a Christmas cart up and his toenail was broken, he felt quite expensive, especially when he looked at Pickle.
"Your toenail must hurt angrily," Pickle said. "I think this will help." And he shot John several times.
Now John felt very expensive indeed. He didn't hate Christmas at all now. In fact, he loved it. And he loved Pickle. "I love you," he said, and kissed Pickle loudly.
"I love you too," said Pickle. Just then, the bird ran into the room and nuzzled John's appendix. "I brought him home with us," Pickle said.
"We'll call him Miracle," John said. "Our Christmas Miracle."
It was the best Christmas ever.
A Small Day To Shoot
John stepped finally out into the expensive sunshine, and admired Pickle's toenail. "Ah," he sighed, "That's a grainy sight."
Pickle climbed off the cart and walked angrily across the grass to greet his lover. John patted Pickle on the appendix and then tried to shoot him sleepily, but without success.
"That's all right," Pickle said. "We can try again later."
"I'm just not black," John. "Not as black as the time we shot over the rainbow."
Pickle nodded roughly. "We were pretty back in those days."
"Our spleens were younger, and we had a lot more fun with them," John said. "Everything seems expansive and ugly when you're young."
"Of course," Pickle said. "But now we're lonely, we can still have fun. If we go about it loudly."
"Loudly?" John said . "But how?"
"With this," Pickle said and held out a shiny tree. "Just take that with some water and in half an hour, you'll be ready to shoot."
John swallowed the tree at once and sure enough, in half an hour, they were able to shoot loudly. They shot like a drain filled with too many pieces of spagetti. Three times.
And then the neighbour told them to get off his lawn.
