# A Merry Little Christmas



## Brock (Oct 31, 2011)

*A Merry Little Christmas *

From ten stories up, Jeff peers down at the residents of Findlay as they merrily stroll in and out the countless boutiques, restaurants and coffee shops that line South Main Street. To him, they seem oblivious to the ugly and painful world that exists beyond their modern-day Mayberry. 

A light snow starts to dust their minks and pea coats as they begin to migrate towards the courthouse. It’s time for the annual lighting of the tree and the usual caroling and hay rides that will follow. 

Jeff momentarily forgets everything he is doing when he spots Abby Davis and Shawn Norris leaving her father’s jewelry store. She is beaming – grinning from ear to ear as they hold hands and run to the courthouse. Jeff’s eyes glaze over as he thinks about her sitting beside him in their twelfth grade chemistry class—how she would twirl her finger around her silky blond hair while letting her sandal dangle from the tips of her perfectly painted toes. He was so intently focused on her that he absorbed almost nothing that would have helped him pass the class. 

Suddenly, as if in slow motion, he thinks he sees her look directly at him and blow him a kiss. Everything but Abby stops moving. He can see her kiss traveling towards him as if it’s the last flight out of this miserable realm, if he can grab it. But her kiss travels too high as Jeff jumps for it and falls back to the pavement empty-handed. He then remembers all the awkward attempts at striking up a conversation with her and how she never responded to him with more than a word or two. He wasn't worth her time—an inferior nobody in her eyes. “_You’re just like everyone else—never even gave me a chance to show you who I really am_,” Jeff says out loud as his growing angst now consumes every fiber of his being. “_You’ll all notice me now.”
_
“Ten!” the mayor loudly bellows. “Nine, eight, seven,” everyone shouts as they crowd the roped perimeter of the seventy foot Norway Spruce.

Jeff gets only sparks as he repeatedly flicks his lighter.

“Six, five, four,” His BIC finally does its job as he lights the rag and tosses the bottle high into the air. “Three, two, one”—the bottle shatters at the base of their beloved tree, sending it into flames. The countdown turns to screams as two unmanned Clydesdales stampede through the crowd, pulling an empty haywagon behind them. 

Jeff grabs his mic from the stand and walks to the corner of the rooftop. The bewildered crowd looks to the sky as the loud squeal of feedback fills the air when he walks too close to a speaker. He takes a deep breath and steps up on the ledge, his eyes reflecting the brilliant orange glow of the tree, which is now completely engulfed in flames.

“Oh my God, look!” One woman points and yells as she spots him. The majority of the panicked crowd is now fixated on Jeff.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light,” Jeff confidently sings into the mic, evoking the great Sinatra as he scans the open-mouthed faces of his captive audience. “From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.”

A half-dozen policemen rush the building after breaking the glass front door. Standing beside his squad car, the chief attempts to reason with Jeff through a megaphone: “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here son? Stop and think for a second before you get yourself in any more trouble okay?” 

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas; make the Yule-tide gay. From now on, our troubles will be miles away,” Jeff replies, realizing that he’s reached the point of no return.

The fire department arrives on scene just as the burning tree starts to fall. The Clydesdales, who have circled back around with uncanny timing, gallop through the path of the falling timber, which gets hung up on the wagon. People watch in horror as these spooked behemoths charge through town, setting numerous things ablaze as they drag a giant fireball behind them.

Jeff doesn’t miss a beat as the world below erupts into chaos:  “Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore.”

The police are now ramming the door to the roof, which Jeff had secured with a chain and his bicycle lock.

He spots Abby standing still among the pandemonium, staring up at him in disbelief. He can read her lips as she says his name: “Jeff?” He sings even louder as a smile slowly starts to creep over his face. She remembers him.

The chain breaks as the policemen burst through the rusted metal door. Jeff spins around to face them and continues to finish the show: “Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

“Let's just step down off the ledge before you slip and fall okay?” an officer pleads.

Jeff looks back over the crowd and yells “Thank you. Thank you, Findlay. Merry Christmas everyone!” He then kicks over his speakers, violently smashes his air guitar and tosses it to the crowd below. He imagines a frenzy breaking out among them as they try to catch it. “They all want a piece of me now,” Jeff says out loud to himself as he tears his shirt off and flings it to his eagerly awaiting fans as well. 
“My name is Jeffrey Maddox, and you’re all gonna remember that name for a real long time!” He envisions them screaming for more—reaching towards him as they chant “Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!” 

Throwing the symbolic horns held high in victory, he leaps to his admirers.

At this very moment, it all vanishes. No crowd, no burning christmas tree, no horses, no police or firemen, and no Abby Davis. The streets are empty and the town is dark—asleep— completely and utterly, still. No frenzied fans who love him—only the cold and unforgiving concrete eagerly awaits to meet him below…

“Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!” He awakes in a cold sweat to his wife yelling at him and shaking his arm. 

“Huh, what, what?” Jeff asks as his heart pounds like a sledghammer. She turns on the light on the nightstand and gives him a nasty glare. 

“You were moaning and flailing your arms and legs all over the place like a frightened little girl, you idiot. I have to be up in an hour and I’ve had the worst night of sleep ever thanks to you. Some of us have to work the Holiday; remember? Why don’t you go downstairs and lay on the couch for now on if you’re gonna throw these little sissy-fits when you sleep?”

“I’m sorry I woke you up Abby. Merry Christmas hun; I love you.”

“Yep,” she replies as she rolls over and turns off the light.


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## Brock (Oct 31, 2011)

I typed this up on my lunch -- just an idea for a short-story that popped in my head, so please feel free to rip it apart if needed.  I'm not sure on the title yet and I welcome any ideas. Thanks!


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## egpenny (Nov 1, 2011)

A Merry Little Christmas


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## Brock (Nov 1, 2011)

> A Merry Little Christmas



Sounds better than what I have.  "A Merry Little Christmas" it is for the time being, or maybe for good unless someone can come up with something better.  I like it.  Thanks egpenny!


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## Italy (Dec 15, 2011)

Nice job! I got a little confused but that's because I skipped over some important bits of it.
Anyways, I congratulate you, my good sir!


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## NickOehrlein (Dec 15, 2011)

Nice job, Brock!

I thought the idea was very creative!  The intro, however, did throw me through quite a hoop.  For a moment I pictured him on a balcony, which I guess doesn't really matter haha.  But all the same, I liked the story.  Adding a bit more detail to the beginning of the story, I think, would clarify it.  Great flow and great suspense.  I kept reading on throughout the entire piece without a break haha  Nice job and I look forward to more of your work!

Peace and Love,
Nick Oehrlein


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## Don V Standeford (Dec 20, 2012)

Very clean, especially for a first draft. I don't know how you came up with all those details just from memory:



> the  bottle shatters at the base of their beloved tree, sending it into  flames. The countdown turns to screams as two unmanned Clydesdales  stampede through the crowd, pulling an empty haywagon behind them.
> 
> Jeff  grabs his mic from the stand and walks to the corner of the rooftop.  The bewildered crowd looks to the sky as the loud squeal of feedback  fills the air when he walks too close to a speaker. He takes a deep  breath and steps up on the ledge, his eyes reflecting the brilliant  orange glow of the tree, which is now completely engulfed in flames.
> 
> ...


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## Brock (Dec 20, 2012)

Don V Standeford said:


> Very clean, especially for a first draft. I don't know how you came up with all those details just from memory:




Thanks, Don.  I forgot all about this piece until you recently commented on it.  The details of the town are real, while the events in my story are fiction, of course.  

It is an extremely conservative town, but within this town are the few who lash out in different ways from time to time.  There is one man who dresses exactly like Gene Simmons (paint and all) and struts through traffic flicking his tongue out and strumming his air guitar.  I've seen older women dressed to the tee in their mink coats stop and stare at him in horror. 

Don't get me wrong, it's a great town to raise a family.  The local government here tries to keep this town like a modern-day Mayberry.  But when these people come out and do their thing, it's something I've always loved watching.  Like I said, it's almost as if some of the residents can only take so much of Findlay.  They let it build for so long and then they lash out in their own unique ways.  

I was thinking about this when I wrote this quick story.  I never planned on doing anything with it; I just enjoyed writing it.

If you get a chance, search "Jeff Gatchell" on youtube.  He's the guy who dresses up like Gene Simmons.  Occasionally he dresses and plays the roles of professional wrestlers also.

I found a few links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItOR_QLk2iA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCl__7sjA9Y&feature=endscreen&NR=1


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## bazz cargo (Jan 6, 2013)

Hi Brock,
I was hooked in on this and then...a dream. 

He was't worth her time (Missed an N).

I'll let you off the cop out ending, it was worth the read.
Bazz


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## Brock (Jan 6, 2013)

bazz cargo said:


> Hi Brock,
> I was hooked in on this and then...a dream.
> 
> He was't worth her time (Missed an N).
> ...


 
Thanks, Bazz.  "Cop out ending" is right.  I just started writing this with no idea where it was going.  Glad you liked it!


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