Flash Club December Flash Club 2019

[Barbara]

December Flash Club is now open.

Prompt: Stuck in an elevator with Father Christmas.

Word Count: 100-200

As always, use the writing prompt as well as the word limit given to write a piece of flash fiction. Entry is open to all members. Feel free to enter more than one.

To enter the competition, simply post below.

To have a winner, we need voters, so please vote for your favourite piece of flash by pressing ‘like’. If more than one grabs you, vote for both. But please don’t vote for your own. Any self-votes won’t be counted.

At the end of the month, I will count up the 'likes' to determine the winner.

New participants: if you haven't yet, please also read the Welcome to the Flash Club page. Welcome to The Flash Club

That's it. Any questions, PM me.

See you next month.

 

[Litopian]

From Noel
---

'Do you honestly like being a marketing tool?'

Santa sighed as he pressed the lift button for what must have been the twentieth time. It was still stuck, 'Not really,' he muttered. 'I don't really like seeing myself on a truck every December.'

'You mean July onwards? That's when it starts these days.'

'You'll be blaming me for that awful song next.'

'Nah, that's Noddy Holders fault.'

'Not that one, the other one,' Santa grunted.

Larry Lark was more suprised that Santa even knew who Noddy Holder was and as he looked up at the great man from where he sat on the elevator floor it dawned on him that Santa was, in fact, a miserable git.

‘Wizard?’ Larry answered. ‘That bloke tried to look like you.’

‘I’m not in the mood to be associated with terrible songs by Brummies,’ Santa mumbled pressing the button again. ‘Or George Michael.’

‘Considering you’re magic,’ Larry asked, exasperated. ‘Can’t you magic us out of here?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? Just call Rudolph.’

‘Cause HE has blocked it,’ Santa explained, kicking the lift. ‘He’s trying to ruin Christmas for use all AGAIN. Just like 1993.’

‘Who?’ Larry asked, intrigued.

‘Who do you think! Mr Blobby!’

 

[Litopian]

From The subcontractor
---

He wasn't a yuppie or a businessman judging by the dirty red suit and unshaven appearance. And he smelled. Like horses or deer’s or something.

Of all the people to be stuck in a lift with on Christmas Eve, this was just my luck.

He kept stabbing a fat finger at the buttons and exhaling loudly.

“Need to be somewhere, Gramp’s?” I asked.

“Just a few deliveries to make son.” He replied with a wink.

I don't know what the wink was all about. I've never seen the guy before in all my years on the circuit as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness.

“Couldn't you just outsource? Save the stress.” I suggest, helpfully.

His eyes light up and he pulls a smartphone out of his pocket “you're a genius, son.”

The call connects and the old guy says “ Fuck it Darlin' get Amazon to do it. Next day delivery. I’m too old for this shit.”

The old guy puts his phone away and sits on the floor, pulling a shiny silver whiskey flask from his inside pocket.
“That's that sorted, son... Merry Christmas.”

 

[Matthew Snoding]

Hello Barbara - Are we supposed to post here or in the other link where we posted November's entries? Cheers!

 

[Barbara]

Hello Barbara - Are we supposed to post here or in the other link where we posted November's entries? Cheers!

Yes, @Matthew Snoding. Agent Pete has had to make some changes, so all the entries will go here, below. They won't be anonymous anymore, so no need for a pseudonym. I'll put a notification up in Café Life in a moment. If you've already posted as Holly Wreath, Noel, or The Subcontractor, would you mind re-posting it here, please? Thank you.

 

[Matthew Snoding]

Santa’s going nuts. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard Santa swear, but it’s not something you’d want the kids to see. More ‘fuckity fuck fuck’ than ‘ho ho ho’.

I think to myself, OK, be the man. Step in, save Christmas.

I say, “I’m not sure banging the buttons is really going to help.”

He says, “Want me to bang your fucking buttons?”

I’m not even sure what that means, but it doesn’t seem to have calmed him.

I try again. I say, “Someone will come. We’ll get it sorted.”

He says, “I’m sick of this shit, people like you just wanting more and more crap. What’s the fucking point? I get all the Reindeers together and for what? People just want a fucking phone so they can snap-chat their knobs to each other. Instagram their tits. No-one wants a colourful box with a wooden train in it anymore. No-one wants a doll. The elves, they can’t keep up with the Chinese and the Koreans. Ever seen an elf make an i-phone? No, thought not. Because they can’t fucking do it! That’s it, next year you can all go fuck yourselves. Then see where the ‘magic’ goes as you’re snivelling into your empty vacuous eggnog lives . . .”

There’s a swish and the door opens. A little kid with his mum is standing there. “Look mummy, there’s Santa,” he says.

Santa eyes the kid for a cold minute.

And says:

‘Ho ho ho.’

 

[Dean Baxter]

The Switch
​

‘Hit me,’ Captain Steve McLane says.
‘Two men robbed the jewelers on the top floor, took the elevator and we shut it down. They have three hostages,’ The security guard says.
‘Hostages?’
‘Couple of suits and the store Santa.’
Steve goes and talks through the door. ‘It’s over. Let them go and give yourselves up. You’ll get six years, serve three. No biggie.’
The guy shouts back through the door. ‘The way I see it: you’re going to get us a car, let us walk… or I start shooting people.’
‘Alright, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, why don’t you give me something? Two hostages are more than a handful. Let old Saint Nick go. It is Christmas eve.’
There’s a pause then the guy replies. ‘Alright, we’ll let Fatso go. Any bullshit, you’ll be delivering bad news to their widows.’
They partially open the door and Santa squeezes through the gap.
‘Get out of here,’ Steve says.
Santa nods and rushes off. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Santa gets around the corner, out of sight, and drops his sack into the trunk of his car. He opens it, rummages around, and pulls out a fist-sized diamond. ‘Ho-ho-ho.’

 

[Steve C]

CLUNKY LIFT

‘Hey Santa,’ I said as he stepped in.
‘Ho there,’
‘Going down?’
‘Yup, ground floor.’
The light over the door flashed 27, 26, 25 then stopped. ‘CLUNK’ said the lift.
‘Shit’ said Santa. ‘I’m late already.’
‘Is that what happened to my bike, too late were you?’
‘What bike?’
‘1958. My dad promised you’d give me a bike, but you never turned up.’
‘Can’t remember. So long ago. I can mention it to God if you want. He knows everything.’
‘Never mind, got a BMW now.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘What you got in there?’ I asked pointing at his sack.
‘I Phones. Dozens of em. If you dig around, there’s some brandy in there somewhere.’

We passed the bottle back and forth. Remy Martin 50% no less.
‘Cheers,’ said Santa. ‘Never had this problem with chimneys. None left now. Pollution they said. No more smoke.’
‘Must have been messy back then eh?’
'Was a bit. But it was fun. Fun is against the law now. Same with the reindeers. Animal Rights said a few prayers so God let them go. Gave me a pickup. Second hand would you believe?

‘CLUNK,’ said the lift and we rode it down emptying the bottle.
‘Ground floor,’ said the lift.
I turned left, and he turned right.
‘Hoppy Chlistmassy,’ I slurred.
‘Ho flippin’ Ho,’ mumbled Santa, struggling with his sack.
'Ping,' said the lift and closed its doors.

 

[Geoff]

This lift is taking so long, come on. How many floors has this car park got? And I’ve got some weirdo dressed up like Santa Claus just out of moth balls, Seriously, shouldn’t he be in a polystyrene cave somewhere, giving out unwanted toys to stroppy children?

‘Yo-ho-ho,’ he suddenly exclaims.

Bloody hell, I knew it, a nutter. I need to ignore him before he starts asking stupid questions.

‘So, what do you what for Christmas, young man?’ he asks.

Here we go.

‘Nothing,’ I reply, searching for my mobile. I get it out and pretend to check emails.

‘Been a bad year for you, hasn’t it?’

I smile. How would you know? I ignore him.

‘Away from home, on your own.’

‘I’m fine.’ Okay I am on my own, so what?

’Christmas always brings a surprise.’

Like you disappearing?

The lift door tings, finally there.

‘Goodbye,’ he says, ‘it will be a Merry Christmas, you’ll see.’

‘Likewise,’ I reply.

My mobile rings, it’s my wife.

‘We are on our way darling; this year we are spending Christmas with you.’

I glance back as the doors begin to close, the lift is empty, just a faint smell of mothballs remains.

 

[Barbara]

December's Flash Club is now closed for entries. Please vote for your favourite piece of flash fiction via the poll at the top of this thread.

Great pieces this month.

 

[Barbara]

And the winner of the December Flash Club is @Geoff. Well done. Congrats. Great way to end and start the new year.

 

[Dean Baxter]

Well done, @Geoff !