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Challenge of the Month II
The Gift. Write the story of a gift, passed from one hand to another. Perhaps it is a heart-warming gesture of kindness and goodwill. Or perhaps it is something more foreboding, more sinister. Perhaps it is a simple, material object. Or perhaps it is something more amorphous, more esoteric. Whatever it is, it must be a gift. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.
samosley
32 reads

Have Yourself a Very Killer Christmas

“...the scalper has struck again, this time, on the corner of 8th and 9th streets. The victim was a 28 year old woman. She was found by the local recycling agency in a recycle bin. She was reported to be found in the same manner as the other victims, with her scalp missing. Her throat had been slit...”

He heard the news as he walked by an open air cafe whose tv was a bit too loud. Most of the patrons ignored the news and continued chatting away and drinking their coffee. He stopped and listened for a moment. He shook his head and thought, “this world is getting worse. Anything will make the news these days.”

Under his arm he carried a package, wrapped in Christmas paper. He strolled down the street, whistling his favorite tune. He was on the way to his yearly meeting with his friend. Since they both had the same hobby, they tended to bump into each other during the year. The two men always met formally near Christmas to exchange gifts. He walked proudly. Strolling along, not in any hurry.

Not far away was his friend. He was on his was to their meeting place. This time, they arranged to meet at a corner deli, which has outside seating—perfect. He was looking forward to seeing his friend. Each year they met at a different place than before. The idea was to keep the authorities from staking out their meeting place. They didn’t eat anything at these get-together’s. Generally, they might shared a club soda or ginger ale together, talk for a few minutes and exchange gifts. They hadn’t known each other long, just a few years. But they got along great. After all, they had so much in common.

They arrived at the deli at the same time, each man acknowledged the other with a wave of the hand. Instead of shaking hands, they fist-bumped for each was a germafobe.

“I’ve only got a few minutes to kill,” Tom said.

“Me too, I’ve got plans also,” Bill replied.

They walked around the corner where the street lamps failed to reach. They each presented the gift they brought for the other. Each man opened his present at the same time as the other. Both smiled at their gifts.

“Hands this year. Nice change from the feet you gave me last year,” Tom said.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the scalps,” Bill replied. “See you next year?”

Both men fist-bumped the other, turned and walked down opposite sides of the street, fading into the dark.

The serial killers were still on the loose.

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