(A Christmas Tale Countdown series, Part 7; see Part 6)
“Good lord, I feel more exasperation than longing,” Ebenezer thought as he walked through the market, looking for a present for Elizabeth. He heard a man calling out, “Geese for sale. Buy a lot of six for the price of three. Ready for laying. Geese for sale!”
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(A Christmas Tale Countdown series, Part 6; see Part 5)
Silas woke up feeling depressed over not having seen Elizabeth for the last three days. He thought he would give her something different for a change. She might be tiring of eating so much fowl. He didn’t want to fatten her up either. Still, he wanted her to think of him. He was glad he was able to write the poem before the rules were made. Surely, she would gather the words sounded like him. He had recited poetry he had written to her quite a few times before. He sighed and went to the market to look for what might catch his eyes.
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(A Christmas Tale Countdown series, Part 5; see Part 4)
“Aunt Maisey, I hope you don’t mind if I take a few more birds,” Ebenezer said to his aunt. They were in the drawing-room finishing their tea.
“Oh?” she said, somewhat taken by surprise. Not wishing to appear miffed, she suggested they go to the music room to see what she can find for him.
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(A Christmas Tale Countdown series, Part 3; see Part 2)
Ebenezer lived with his great-Aunt Maisey, who professed every day she would leave everything to Ebenezer if he continued to mind her. He liked the old biddy enough but wished she wasn’t so robust. He wouldn’t mind if she were feeble and in bed most of the time. Instead, she tended to flit about and meddle in everyone’s business, as she was now doing in his. The two of them were in the drawing-room drinking tea together, although his mind was on Elizabeth.
“Darling boy, how preoccupied you look today. What is on your mind, sweet son?”
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(A Christmas Tale Countdown series, Part 2; see Part 1)
Silas chose the winning head side of the coin. He bade his friends farewell and went home to think. He was glad no one was in the drawing-room, where he sat upon his favorite chair. He mused about Elizabeth — her dainty hands, her bow-shaped lips . He knew then what to give her.
He would go look for a succulent partridge that would more than sufficiently feed her parents and three sisters. They could then finish off the lovely repast with sweet pears. Such a gift would immediately endear him to the whole family. Horace didn’t say one couldn’t write a poem with the gift. He’ll sign it anonymous, but he will make sure his prose provides a clue that might make her think of him.
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Image: Pixabay
Long ago before earth was awashed with acid rain and layered with greenhouse gases, there lived three young people whose lives intersected and formed a love triangle. Unbeknownst to Elizabeth, she of the warm chestnut hair and sparkling hazel eyes, the two lads vying for her heart would have topped the most wanted criminal list had the two rivals’ good friend, Horace, not stepped in to arbitrate. The three friends stood outside a few feet away from The Bedfordshire Inn. Continue reading
Her eyes open, slowly focusing at the rail on the side of her bed. She struggles to breathe, a flash of anger courses through her as she tries to inhale what little air she can get into her terminally ill lung. A tear slides by the side of her eye, as she prays silently for mercy. She rolls onto her back and stares unseeingly up the ceiling. Her thoughts jumble. Instantly, she has a lucid thought, “I had a good, long life.” Continue reading
He padded into her life as if he belonged there. They immediately hit it off and were dancing, singing, drinking, and eating together. Day in and day out, they were in constant contact. They became as one. They tangoed with each other’s friends, but always together. Cymbals clashed along the way. A bit discordant, but they were able to smooth it out. As they continued along, little things popped up here and there like pimples. Unpleasant but manageable until . . . Continue reading
I miss your being
Only memories remain
Though it’s not the same
All set, but where are you?
©2015 Karina Pinella
Karina Pinella 
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