Yule Contest Entries - AND THE WINNER IS...
This was such a close contest!!! The winner is entry #2 - The Yule Man, by LimeyDawg!!!
Congratulations, LimeyDawg! You can choose any prize from our prize thread.
Entry #1
Yule!
What an incredible drag!
by Melisande
Once more I’m surrounded by Christmas music in every store, and people are wearing that fake happy face while they are stressing about, browsing for that special gift to that special person as if their lives depended on it.
Once more the TV is spewing smart but sentimental movies and commercials aimed at my conscience; “Remember that you are only as appreciated as your gift is expensive!”
Yeah, I have a tree, all dressed up. I like the lights and I like the glitter. And yes, I feel obliged to clean the whole house and polish the copper, but right now I prefer to relax with a glass of wine and think about it all.
Yule! Midwinterblót, winter solstice, sacrifice and celebration, dance and contemplation. It fills my mind and my senses are filled with memories from days long gone. How do I know? How do I recognize the pride and sorrow in the woman making fatty sausages out of her prime sow? How can I relate to the man’s awe when he runs the knife into the heart of the boar and the blood spills over the sacred stone? How do I know that he thinks of his gods at that moment? How do I recognize that he is grateful to have life and nourishment? How is it possible that I can feel the joy of the children as they smell the wonderful odors of roasting meat?
I fill my glass again and lean back in the chair. Better to turn off the damned TV and let my mind travel back in time… Have I lived before? Don’t know, and don’t care. In my mind it is all blurred anyway. What is today, if not built on yesterday?
I see the woman generously fill a wooden bowl with porridge and bring it to the barn. Kneeling in the snow, she lovingly places it on the stone step and for a moment she bends her head in what looks like a prayer. She knows that the little people will be pleased with her offering and continue to care for the animals. She feels blessed. One cow, two small but sturdy horses, two goats, two pigs and three sheep fills the thatched roofed stable.
The phone rings and my mind returns back into today. A collector, no less! Well, he’s got no business here and I hang up on him. Rude, but effective! The nerve of these people drives me mad! It’s getting dark outside and I light a candle. I stare into the flickering light and see the ancient fire.
The man has told his slaves to change hey under all the beds and sweep the floor. As he rests by the fire his eyes appraise the children as they help with the chores. Three daughters and two little boys his woman has given him. The youngest is week and sickly. Deep inside he sighs. No matter how many sacrifices he has made, his woman is now barren. Well, the round and appetizing milkmaid is carrying her first, and it might turn out to be the son he wants; strong and brave and a suitable heir. He scratches his beard and reaches for the goblet and savors the spicy metheglin. He decides not to repudiate his woman, not yet. Her skills are great and there is peace among the slaves with her in the house.
There’s a knock on the door and I go to see who it is. Ah, the postman! He’s got a package for me and I feel the world as it is today crawl into my mind. Who has sent me a package? What’s wrong with people? Don’t they ever listen? I know that I’ve asked everyone to skip the whole Christmas gift thingy. It’s so unnecessary, so fake and so damned expensive. Hmm…, it’s beautifully wrapped and there is a card. Let’s see… yes of course, it from my sister-in-law. She never did understand how her precious brother could marry a ‘heathen’. Heathen, my foot! I’m just “non” everything. Well, I guess that it’s heathen enough for some people. My husband will be thrilled, though. I’ll leave it under the tree for him to unwrap when the day comes. Who emptied my glass? Must have been me, time for a refill. I’m glad that I thought about the crock-pot. Hubby will have dinner on time.
The woman hangs the juicy sausages over the fire. The smoke will give them flavor and up there the mice can’t reach them. She looks at her man, knowing that he is not all together pleased with the fact that she isn’t pregnant again. Oh, he should only know about the herbs she secretly puts in her morning tea. Her body needs the rest. Six pregnancies in seven years! Her milk ran out early on the youngest and look at him now! Pale and thin like the farm dog outside. She knows that the milkmaid is carrying his child. At least seven months pregnant and flaunting the belly like it’s a prize. Well, she’ll learn…
Suddenly I remember my son and feel a slight pang of regret. Maybe I should have gotten him a little something for Christmas after all? Nah, he’s got his own life now and his girlfriend seems nice enough. I’m sure she will give him a wonderful first Christmas in their new home. Dang, this glass must be leaking and I most desperately need to go… Back in the living room I pull the curtains and light some more candles. Better bring the whole bottle to the table. I pour another glass…
She hopes that the gods accepted the last born. That had been the hardest thing she had to do, but her man had not accepted that one and refused to give it his name. It was born on the day of mid winter, exactly one year ago, with a face strangely deformed, moon-like and a brush of dark hair. Exhausted, but determent, she had held out the baby for her man to see. One glance and he had turned his back. With blood still trickling down her thighs she had wrapped the creature in an old fell and slowly carried it out into the woods behind the low house, ignoring the pitiable whimpering from the tiny bundle. Silently she had placed her burden next to a giant boulder and returned to her bed. Her duty was not to shed tears, not to acknowledge that it had been human, or the gods would turn their backs too. Now at least they would accept it for a creature. She looks around the big, elongated room. Three fires are burning and it is warm. She presses her hands against the small of her back and stretches. She can feel the winter in her bones. She knows that she doesn’t have many fertile years left and she feels an unexpected surge of fear. Tonight she must visit his bed!
Sirens! Which kind? It’s the police. Guess someone has had an accident again. Or maybe there has been a robbery somewhere. And this with Christmas around the corner! What happened with the Christmas spirit that everyone is so gung-ho about this time of year? Did it get lost between the department store shelves? Or was it never really there?
The milkmaid looks at her master and wonders if he will turn his back on this child also. She had felt so sure about him, convinced that he would replace his woman with her and free her from slavery. The heavy smoke from the fires puts tears in her eyes and she feels the weight of her belly. She knows that she would never be able to take the lonely walk into the woods with the same stoicism as her mistress had shown last year. Born into slavery she had never contemplated these facts before, but now she feels that all she wants is for her child to be a freeborn. She has no doubts that if the child is a healthy son, the master will free him on sight. The awesome power in a name! Into her mind enters the strange and unsettling thought that it isn’t right how some people are born without freedom, how they are mere property, like sheep in a barn. Quickly she hides her face in the fresh hey and forces her mind to go blank. The mistress has secret powers, and can be quite intimidating!
The bottle is empty, and I argue with myself whether to open a second. Might as well! If I don’t do it now, I know for a fact that I’ll do it later. Now, where did I put that corkscrew? Guess that it wouldn’t hurt with some music either. Händel’s Messiah, I think. Yeah, that’s the good stuff.
Finally the evening has come and it is time to rest. The woman gives the sign to the slaves that their day has ended. She gives them each a benevolent nod and an extra ration of mead, not forgetting to include the milkmaid. Yes, she has read the mind of the young woman and knows in her heart that she would have felt the same way. But it is not up to her to change the world. She has duties, and one of them, perhaps the most important of them all, is to keep her household well oiled and at peace. Her mother gave her the secret skills to do so, as she will pass them on to her daughters when the time is right. But not today, not tonight! This night is the night when the year has come full circle, a night reserved for contemplation and stillness. This is the night when the gods have accepted the sacrifices offered and celebrate it by sending the sun back north again. With reverence she puts the log representing rebirth in the fire and smiles at her man.
I hear my Hubby’s car door slam, and his tired steps up the stairs, and as he opens the door I hear the magnificent choir triumphantly burst out in “Hallelujah”.
Entry #2
WINNER
The Yule Man
by LimeyDawg
The light turned red well in advance of the car’s approach, but the driver cursed anyway, not for the inconvenience of stopping, but because he was there.
Again.
Every day for the past month, the sight of a man begging greeted John Barnes as he pulled to the intersection a mile from his home. Despite his calls to the police, the man was always there, and John Barnes was beginning to take seriously the idea of going to the police chief’s house and personally demanding that he do something about the vagrant. After all, Barnes had worked hard for the past ten years to get where he is.
He was an important man.
He had kissed all the right asses, he reminded himself, to climb that corporate ladder and earn enough to find himself living in the most desirable neighborhood in town. He had always wanted a Mediterranean style house; now he had a mansion. His was the most expensive in his community--a gated community. He sighed. At least this “bum” wouldn’t be walking his street, scaring the neighbors and eating out of his garbage cans.
John Barnes could not understand why the man returned. Not one person had given him a cent. In fact, Barnes had not seen anybody acknowledged him. He was nothing if not persistent. Still, the man’s presence irked Barnes. He battered the voice of his conscience that echoed what he knew, or what he should know.
Not everyone enjoys the finer things in life, the voice whispered. There are only so many vice president positions available. Be thankful for what you have.
“Screw that,” he muttered, glancing askance at the man as the light stayed stubbornly red. “Why not get a job instead of begging from people who work?”
Again, the nagging voice reminded him of his reality. It wouldn’t hurt to give the man a few dollars. You can certainly afford it. And, again, Barnes closed his mind to reason.
“What the hell is taking this light so long?” The car motor rumbled in agreement, sharing his desire to be on the road, which was, surprisingly, empty of cars for this time of morning. He looked at the man, wincing at the sight of the words scrawled across the tattered placard.
Will work for food. God Bless.
Barnes felt his ire rise again. Work? That’s funny, he thought. It doesn’t look like you know what work is, Yule Man. He chuckled at the name he had given the bum, priding himself in the wordplay. A man at Christmastime, standing around waiting for someone to light up his world, just like a yule log.
Yule Man.
It fit, and Barnes wickedly pictured the man burning, if only for a moment before the voice chided him for his lack of humanity. Barnes cringed at the sight of the broken man. Long, graying hair and beard covered a haggard face. The dirty overcoat-- probably stolen from somebody, he thought--offered little resistance to the biting cold. Puffs of breath lit the morning air, coming in gasps as the Yule Man labored against some ailment. Barnes wondered what event would make a man give up his life for this, but then stopped. No, that’s not my burden to carry, he thought. We all make choices. Some better than others, to be sure. We should live with them.
“What the hell is up with this light.”
The red eye seemed to point an accusatory finger at him, but he ignored it. Why should he feel sorry for a man paying for his mistakes?
Not everyone is entitled to a second chance.
Besides, he wasn’t about to let today be ruined by his conscience, especially today. Ten years he had worked, he reminded himself, and not once had he asked anything of anyone but himself. Ten years he had given to his wife and children: anything they wanted, and what was his reward?
A tie.
A goddamned tie--every Christmas it was the same. Expensive toys for the kids. Diamonds for the wife, and his reward? The thought made him flush with anger. He had hundreds of ties--Louis Vuitton, Bocara, Capucci—hundreds of them. Ties meant nothing to him. The last thing he needed was one more tie.
Damned ingrates.
Well, this year would be different. This year he would get something he had wanted for quite some time: Sally. His secretary was gorgeous; everything a wife’s nightmares were made of and more. Sally made it apparent that she, like him, was willing to do anything to get ahead. After all, being related to a board member only got a girl so far. Sometimes, you had to earn it. Well, Barnes thought, today we’ll find out exactly what she means by “anything.”
The alibi was ironclad, the out of town room paid for, and all Barnes needed was the light to change. This beats the hell out of a tie, and why not? It comes with the territory. He had already seen the tie. It was silk, with blue and yellow diamond pattern. Nice, if one liked ties, but nothing compared to the pattern that Sally hid beneath her sweaters.
His impatience with the light became unbearable, but just as the curse left his lips, the signal changed to green. He smiled at the Yule Man and lifted his foot from the brake. As the car pulled forward, the vagrant mouthed “fool” from behind the beard. Barnes locked eyes with the man as the car picked up speed. It was almost as if Yule Man had heard his thoughts, but that was nonsense.
Wasn’t it?
Besides, who the hell was the Yule Man to judge John Barnes? He gunned the motor, trying to shake the uneasiness as a shiver raised the hairs on his neck. The squealing of tires came too late to break him from his reverie, but the ferocity of the impact brought him to his senses, if only for a moment. The sound of shattering glass immediately followed the clap-smack of metal meeting metal, as a speeding truck struck the expensive import, and John Barnes’ world spun in response.
Then everything went black.
Barnes awoke to the feeling of his feet dragging on the pavement, and he tried to yell at whoever was pulling him to be careful of his shoes.
It’s goddamned Italian leather…Italian, he thought, but the words stayed away from his lips.
As consciousness came back to him, he felt himself lowered to the ground, to grass, and the comforting embrace it offered his pain. One side of his face was hot, and he choked back the fear that the flying glass had cut and disfigured him. Turning his head brought a sight that made him groan. His car sat in the middle of the road, in flames.
A strange smell rose over that of burning metal and rubber. Barnes gagged. The
connection to the scent of alcohol and urine came slowly, but when it did, he flinched at the thought of the Yule Man touching him. He wanted to vomit at the idea, and this time the small voice stayed quiet in agreement.
The Yule Man kneeled over him. Barnes was repulsed at the closeness, and the pungency of the odor. “What are you going to do,” he spat through the pain. “Rob me.”
The Yule Man sighed and shook his head. The voice was familiar, but from where? “We all have choices. Some are just better than others.”
The words froze Barnes, and he was suddenly afraid. “What the hell?”
“Some men,” the Yule Man whispered, “deserve a second chance.”
The shiver rose again, and he wanted the freedom of an arm’s length of distance, to push the man away despite his revulsion at the idea of touching him. He reached a weak hand toward the Yule Man’s throat, grabbing at the collar of the coat. The Yule Man offered no resistance, but Barnes was weak and his hand fell away. When he saw what came with it, he gasped.
It was a tie: silk, with a pattern of blue and yellow diamonds.
He locked eyes with the Yule Man, and life played out in fast forward against the pattern of the tie. He writhed against Sally’s naked flesh. Christmas came with his children and wife. The tie. Then anger, broken dishes and tears--tears from his wife, tears from his children. The sudden sense of loss. The sounds of a slamming door. More tears, only this time from Sally. Fear. Another slamming door. Anger from the CEO. Humility. Another slamming door. Then more anger, unfamiliar. Shame. He felt cold. Alone. So alone. Darkness. A gunshot.
For the first time in many years, John Barnes cried.
“We all make choices,” the Yule Man said. “Only, some are better than others.”
He awoke to the chatter of radios and voices. Barnes tried to rise from where he lay, but a hand pushed him gently to the gurney.
“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” a woman said.
“You need to lay still, Mister Barnes,” a man said. “We’re not sure if there are any serious injuries yet. Still, you might well be the luckiest man alive. Most people don’t walk away from wrecks like that.”
“That’s right, Mister Barnes,” the woman said. “Somebody is looking out for you. Everybody deserves a second chance.”
The words froze him. “What did you say?”
“I said ‘everybody deserves a second chance’, Mister Barnes. You were talking to yourself when the truck driver found you. He said you kept repeating that, and something about…choices.”
It was then that Barnes remembered. “Where’s the Yule Man?”
“Who?” the man asked.
“The bum. The vagrant…” Barnes was ashamed. “The Yule Man. I never got his name.”
“There wasn’t anybody else here,” he continued. “The truck driver said that after the accident, you crawled away before your car caught fire. The only thing left is this.”
The paramedic held up a tie: silk, with a blue and yellow diamond pattern. Barnes smiled.
“Looks like that’s a special tie,” the woman said.
“The best one I ever got,” Barnes replied.
This was such a close contest!!! The winner is entry #2 - The Yule Man, by LimeyDawg!!!
Congratulations, LimeyDawg! You can choose any prize from our prize thread.
Entry #1
Yule!
What an incredible drag!
by Melisande
Once more I’m surrounded by Christmas music in every store, and people are wearing that fake happy face while they are stressing about, browsing for that special gift to that special person as if their lives depended on it.
Once more the TV is spewing smart but sentimental movies and commercials aimed at my conscience; “Remember that you are only as appreciated as your gift is expensive!”
Yeah, I have a tree, all dressed up. I like the lights and I like the glitter. And yes, I feel obliged to clean the whole house and polish the copper, but right now I prefer to relax with a glass of wine and think about it all.
Yule! Midwinterblót, winter solstice, sacrifice and celebration, dance and contemplation. It fills my mind and my senses are filled with memories from days long gone. How do I know? How do I recognize the pride and sorrow in the woman making fatty sausages out of her prime sow? How can I relate to the man’s awe when he runs the knife into the heart of the boar and the blood spills over the sacred stone? How do I know that he thinks of his gods at that moment? How do I recognize that he is grateful to have life and nourishment? How is it possible that I can feel the joy of the children as they smell the wonderful odors of roasting meat?
I fill my glass again and lean back in the chair. Better to turn off the damned TV and let my mind travel back in time… Have I lived before? Don’t know, and don’t care. In my mind it is all blurred anyway. What is today, if not built on yesterday?
I see the woman generously fill a wooden bowl with porridge and bring it to the barn. Kneeling in the snow, she lovingly places it on the stone step and for a moment she bends her head in what looks like a prayer. She knows that the little people will be pleased with her offering and continue to care for the animals. She feels blessed. One cow, two small but sturdy horses, two goats, two pigs and three sheep fills the thatched roofed stable.
The phone rings and my mind returns back into today. A collector, no less! Well, he’s got no business here and I hang up on him. Rude, but effective! The nerve of these people drives me mad! It’s getting dark outside and I light a candle. I stare into the flickering light and see the ancient fire.
The man has told his slaves to change hey under all the beds and sweep the floor. As he rests by the fire his eyes appraise the children as they help with the chores. Three daughters and two little boys his woman has given him. The youngest is week and sickly. Deep inside he sighs. No matter how many sacrifices he has made, his woman is now barren. Well, the round and appetizing milkmaid is carrying her first, and it might turn out to be the son he wants; strong and brave and a suitable heir. He scratches his beard and reaches for the goblet and savors the spicy metheglin. He decides not to repudiate his woman, not yet. Her skills are great and there is peace among the slaves with her in the house.
There’s a knock on the door and I go to see who it is. Ah, the postman! He’s got a package for me and I feel the world as it is today crawl into my mind. Who has sent me a package? What’s wrong with people? Don’t they ever listen? I know that I’ve asked everyone to skip the whole Christmas gift thingy. It’s so unnecessary, so fake and so damned expensive. Hmm…, it’s beautifully wrapped and there is a card. Let’s see… yes of course, it from my sister-in-law. She never did understand how her precious brother could marry a ‘heathen’. Heathen, my foot! I’m just “non” everything. Well, I guess that it’s heathen enough for some people. My husband will be thrilled, though. I’ll leave it under the tree for him to unwrap when the day comes. Who emptied my glass? Must have been me, time for a refill. I’m glad that I thought about the crock-pot. Hubby will have dinner on time.
The woman hangs the juicy sausages over the fire. The smoke will give them flavor and up there the mice can’t reach them. She looks at her man, knowing that he is not all together pleased with the fact that she isn’t pregnant again. Oh, he should only know about the herbs she secretly puts in her morning tea. Her body needs the rest. Six pregnancies in seven years! Her milk ran out early on the youngest and look at him now! Pale and thin like the farm dog outside. She knows that the milkmaid is carrying his child. At least seven months pregnant and flaunting the belly like it’s a prize. Well, she’ll learn…
Suddenly I remember my son and feel a slight pang of regret. Maybe I should have gotten him a little something for Christmas after all? Nah, he’s got his own life now and his girlfriend seems nice enough. I’m sure she will give him a wonderful first Christmas in their new home. Dang, this glass must be leaking and I most desperately need to go… Back in the living room I pull the curtains and light some more candles. Better bring the whole bottle to the table. I pour another glass…
She hopes that the gods accepted the last born. That had been the hardest thing she had to do, but her man had not accepted that one and refused to give it his name. It was born on the day of mid winter, exactly one year ago, with a face strangely deformed, moon-like and a brush of dark hair. Exhausted, but determent, she had held out the baby for her man to see. One glance and he had turned his back. With blood still trickling down her thighs she had wrapped the creature in an old fell and slowly carried it out into the woods behind the low house, ignoring the pitiable whimpering from the tiny bundle. Silently she had placed her burden next to a giant boulder and returned to her bed. Her duty was not to shed tears, not to acknowledge that it had been human, or the gods would turn their backs too. Now at least they would accept it for a creature. She looks around the big, elongated room. Three fires are burning and it is warm. She presses her hands against the small of her back and stretches. She can feel the winter in her bones. She knows that she doesn’t have many fertile years left and she feels an unexpected surge of fear. Tonight she must visit his bed!
Sirens! Which kind? It’s the police. Guess someone has had an accident again. Or maybe there has been a robbery somewhere. And this with Christmas around the corner! What happened with the Christmas spirit that everyone is so gung-ho about this time of year? Did it get lost between the department store shelves? Or was it never really there?
The milkmaid looks at her master and wonders if he will turn his back on this child also. She had felt so sure about him, convinced that he would replace his woman with her and free her from slavery. The heavy smoke from the fires puts tears in her eyes and she feels the weight of her belly. She knows that she would never be able to take the lonely walk into the woods with the same stoicism as her mistress had shown last year. Born into slavery she had never contemplated these facts before, but now she feels that all she wants is for her child to be a freeborn. She has no doubts that if the child is a healthy son, the master will free him on sight. The awesome power in a name! Into her mind enters the strange and unsettling thought that it isn’t right how some people are born without freedom, how they are mere property, like sheep in a barn. Quickly she hides her face in the fresh hey and forces her mind to go blank. The mistress has secret powers, and can be quite intimidating!
The bottle is empty, and I argue with myself whether to open a second. Might as well! If I don’t do it now, I know for a fact that I’ll do it later. Now, where did I put that corkscrew? Guess that it wouldn’t hurt with some music either. Händel’s Messiah, I think. Yeah, that’s the good stuff.
Finally the evening has come and it is time to rest. The woman gives the sign to the slaves that their day has ended. She gives them each a benevolent nod and an extra ration of mead, not forgetting to include the milkmaid. Yes, she has read the mind of the young woman and knows in her heart that she would have felt the same way. But it is not up to her to change the world. She has duties, and one of them, perhaps the most important of them all, is to keep her household well oiled and at peace. Her mother gave her the secret skills to do so, as she will pass them on to her daughters when the time is right. But not today, not tonight! This night is the night when the year has come full circle, a night reserved for contemplation and stillness. This is the night when the gods have accepted the sacrifices offered and celebrate it by sending the sun back north again. With reverence she puts the log representing rebirth in the fire and smiles at her man.
I hear my Hubby’s car door slam, and his tired steps up the stairs, and as he opens the door I hear the magnificent choir triumphantly burst out in “Hallelujah”.
Entry #2
WINNER
The Yule Man
by LimeyDawg
The light turned red well in advance of the car’s approach, but the driver cursed anyway, not for the inconvenience of stopping, but because he was there.
Again.
Every day for the past month, the sight of a man begging greeted John Barnes as he pulled to the intersection a mile from his home. Despite his calls to the police, the man was always there, and John Barnes was beginning to take seriously the idea of going to the police chief’s house and personally demanding that he do something about the vagrant. After all, Barnes had worked hard for the past ten years to get where he is.
He was an important man.
He had kissed all the right asses, he reminded himself, to climb that corporate ladder and earn enough to find himself living in the most desirable neighborhood in town. He had always wanted a Mediterranean style house; now he had a mansion. His was the most expensive in his community--a gated community. He sighed. At least this “bum” wouldn’t be walking his street, scaring the neighbors and eating out of his garbage cans.
John Barnes could not understand why the man returned. Not one person had given him a cent. In fact, Barnes had not seen anybody acknowledged him. He was nothing if not persistent. Still, the man’s presence irked Barnes. He battered the voice of his conscience that echoed what he knew, or what he should know.
Not everyone enjoys the finer things in life, the voice whispered. There are only so many vice president positions available. Be thankful for what you have.
“Screw that,” he muttered, glancing askance at the man as the light stayed stubbornly red. “Why not get a job instead of begging from people who work?”
Again, the nagging voice reminded him of his reality. It wouldn’t hurt to give the man a few dollars. You can certainly afford it. And, again, Barnes closed his mind to reason.
“What the hell is taking this light so long?” The car motor rumbled in agreement, sharing his desire to be on the road, which was, surprisingly, empty of cars for this time of morning. He looked at the man, wincing at the sight of the words scrawled across the tattered placard.
Will work for food. God Bless.
Barnes felt his ire rise again. Work? That’s funny, he thought. It doesn’t look like you know what work is, Yule Man. He chuckled at the name he had given the bum, priding himself in the wordplay. A man at Christmastime, standing around waiting for someone to light up his world, just like a yule log.
Yule Man.
It fit, and Barnes wickedly pictured the man burning, if only for a moment before the voice chided him for his lack of humanity. Barnes cringed at the sight of the broken man. Long, graying hair and beard covered a haggard face. The dirty overcoat-- probably stolen from somebody, he thought--offered little resistance to the biting cold. Puffs of breath lit the morning air, coming in gasps as the Yule Man labored against some ailment. Barnes wondered what event would make a man give up his life for this, but then stopped. No, that’s not my burden to carry, he thought. We all make choices. Some better than others, to be sure. We should live with them.
“What the hell is up with this light.”
The red eye seemed to point an accusatory finger at him, but he ignored it. Why should he feel sorry for a man paying for his mistakes?
Not everyone is entitled to a second chance.
Besides, he wasn’t about to let today be ruined by his conscience, especially today. Ten years he had worked, he reminded himself, and not once had he asked anything of anyone but himself. Ten years he had given to his wife and children: anything they wanted, and what was his reward?
A tie.
A goddamned tie--every Christmas it was the same. Expensive toys for the kids. Diamonds for the wife, and his reward? The thought made him flush with anger. He had hundreds of ties--Louis Vuitton, Bocara, Capucci—hundreds of them. Ties meant nothing to him. The last thing he needed was one more tie.
Damned ingrates.
Well, this year would be different. This year he would get something he had wanted for quite some time: Sally. His secretary was gorgeous; everything a wife’s nightmares were made of and more. Sally made it apparent that she, like him, was willing to do anything to get ahead. After all, being related to a board member only got a girl so far. Sometimes, you had to earn it. Well, Barnes thought, today we’ll find out exactly what she means by “anything.”
The alibi was ironclad, the out of town room paid for, and all Barnes needed was the light to change. This beats the hell out of a tie, and why not? It comes with the territory. He had already seen the tie. It was silk, with blue and yellow diamond pattern. Nice, if one liked ties, but nothing compared to the pattern that Sally hid beneath her sweaters.
His impatience with the light became unbearable, but just as the curse left his lips, the signal changed to green. He smiled at the Yule Man and lifted his foot from the brake. As the car pulled forward, the vagrant mouthed “fool” from behind the beard. Barnes locked eyes with the man as the car picked up speed. It was almost as if Yule Man had heard his thoughts, but that was nonsense.
Wasn’t it?
Besides, who the hell was the Yule Man to judge John Barnes? He gunned the motor, trying to shake the uneasiness as a shiver raised the hairs on his neck. The squealing of tires came too late to break him from his reverie, but the ferocity of the impact brought him to his senses, if only for a moment. The sound of shattering glass immediately followed the clap-smack of metal meeting metal, as a speeding truck struck the expensive import, and John Barnes’ world spun in response.
Then everything went black.
Barnes awoke to the feeling of his feet dragging on the pavement, and he tried to yell at whoever was pulling him to be careful of his shoes.
It’s goddamned Italian leather…Italian, he thought, but the words stayed away from his lips.
As consciousness came back to him, he felt himself lowered to the ground, to grass, and the comforting embrace it offered his pain. One side of his face was hot, and he choked back the fear that the flying glass had cut and disfigured him. Turning his head brought a sight that made him groan. His car sat in the middle of the road, in flames.
A strange smell rose over that of burning metal and rubber. Barnes gagged. The
connection to the scent of alcohol and urine came slowly, but when it did, he flinched at the thought of the Yule Man touching him. He wanted to vomit at the idea, and this time the small voice stayed quiet in agreement.
The Yule Man kneeled over him. Barnes was repulsed at the closeness, and the pungency of the odor. “What are you going to do,” he spat through the pain. “Rob me.”
The Yule Man sighed and shook his head. The voice was familiar, but from where? “We all have choices. Some are just better than others.”
The words froze Barnes, and he was suddenly afraid. “What the hell?”
“Some men,” the Yule Man whispered, “deserve a second chance.”
The shiver rose again, and he wanted the freedom of an arm’s length of distance, to push the man away despite his revulsion at the idea of touching him. He reached a weak hand toward the Yule Man’s throat, grabbing at the collar of the coat. The Yule Man offered no resistance, but Barnes was weak and his hand fell away. When he saw what came with it, he gasped.
It was a tie: silk, with a pattern of blue and yellow diamonds.
He locked eyes with the Yule Man, and life played out in fast forward against the pattern of the tie. He writhed against Sally’s naked flesh. Christmas came with his children and wife. The tie. Then anger, broken dishes and tears--tears from his wife, tears from his children. The sudden sense of loss. The sounds of a slamming door. More tears, only this time from Sally. Fear. Another slamming door. Anger from the CEO. Humility. Another slamming door. Then more anger, unfamiliar. Shame. He felt cold. Alone. So alone. Darkness. A gunshot.
For the first time in many years, John Barnes cried.
“We all make choices,” the Yule Man said. “Only, some are better than others.”
He awoke to the chatter of radios and voices. Barnes tried to rise from where he lay, but a hand pushed him gently to the gurney.
“Don’t get up, don’t get up,” a woman said.
“You need to lay still, Mister Barnes,” a man said. “We’re not sure if there are any serious injuries yet. Still, you might well be the luckiest man alive. Most people don’t walk away from wrecks like that.”
“That’s right, Mister Barnes,” the woman said. “Somebody is looking out for you. Everybody deserves a second chance.”
The words froze him. “What did you say?”
“I said ‘everybody deserves a second chance’, Mister Barnes. You were talking to yourself when the truck driver found you. He said you kept repeating that, and something about…choices.”
It was then that Barnes remembered. “Where’s the Yule Man?”
“Who?” the man asked.
“The bum. The vagrant…” Barnes was ashamed. “The Yule Man. I never got his name.”
“There wasn’t anybody else here,” he continued. “The truck driver said that after the accident, you crawled away before your car caught fire. The only thing left is this.”
The paramedic held up a tie: silk, with a blue and yellow diamond pattern. Barnes smiled.
“Looks like that’s a special tie,” the woman said.
“The best one I ever got,” Barnes replied.
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