My view this morning |
During the hectic pre-Yule days,
Michael Brookes hosted a Christmas drabble writing competition over
at his blog, The Cult of Me. I decided to give it a go. I've never
written a drabble before – a drabble is a 100 word story, and it
always seemed to me impossible to tell a story in so few words. I've
seen people do it, though – quite brilliantly, too – and since
I've never tried it, I thought it would be interesting (I can enjoy
an occasional challenge, as long as there isn't too much pressure ;)
). As it happens, it was also a lot of fun (I am utterly bored with
everything else I've been trying to write recently, and I viewed this
as a legitimate getaway...). So, imagine my surprise when my drabble
was actually chosen among the 12 drabbles of Christmas to be
published on TCoM and to receive a prize!
The drabble was originally published
here, but you can read it right here as well:
Midwinter by Ulla
Susimetsä
Snow buries field and
forest. Darkness shrouds the world. The day barely dawns before dying
into dusk.
Tonight, the longest
night, the darkest night, the dead walk among the living.
In these dark hunting
grounds of merciless cold, ancestors are always close, remembered,
revered. Tonight, once the feasting is over, food and ale is left on
the table for the dead to enjoy. Fire glows in the sauna oven long
after the living have bathed: the dead may come and warm their icy
limbs.
I slip into the smoky
darkness. Ahh, so much better than the grave in frozen ground!
For those not familiar with Finnish
traditions: my drabble is based on ancient customs which have been,
in fact, alive up until quite recent times. I worried that this might
not be clear and that people might think it was all fantasy... at
which point my dear husband gave me a long look and asked, “in
other words, you actually believe that the ancestors sneak into the
sauna on Midwinter night?” Well... ;)
Anyway, I entered another drabble, too, and might as well post it here:
Santa's Little Helper
by Ulla Susimetsä
Stockings? Check.
The little red cap?
Check.
A festive ribbon?
Check.
I tiptoe through the
silent night. At the nursery door I listen, smiling. So much for
staying up, seeing the reindeer fly, spying Santa with the presents!
I sneak into the
living-room. There, by the fireplace, waits the man. Stuffing the
stockings, he whispers, ”The kids didn't wake?”
”They're fast
asleep.”
He chuckles. ”You
brought the rest of the presents?”
”And one for you to
unwrap now.”
He turns. His gaze
devours my attire: elf's cap, lace stockings, the ribbon that covers
so little. ”Merry Christmas, darling.”