Technically, Dancer didn’t so much know a guy as know a guy who knew a guy.
Prancer scowled as he listened to Dancer’s story. They were in Rudy’s and the noisy, well-oiled crowd helped drown out their conversation.
“I knew that story in The Times was bullshit,” Prancer said. “‘Dasher Dead After Freak Accident’ my ass.” He guzzled his Stout and signaled for another. “Now we have to break in some noob to replace him.”
“Yes, yes,” Dancer said impatiently. “What about the bigger picture? If they could do this to Dasher, they could do it to any of us.”
Dasher’s brother, Dancer, wandered the compound trying to work off the nervous energy that always hit him in the weeks before C-Day. Passing by Dasher’s house, he saw a broken window covered with plastic taped over the frame, and decided to see what happened. As soon as Mandy answered the door, he knew something was very wrong.
She told him how Dasher had been killed just as he decided to leave the Pole. “We should have known that our homes were bugged. That asshole,” Mandy said, pointing in the direction of Santa’s Mansion, “has always been a tyrant.”
You may remember that I participated in a writing challenge last December called BlogFestivus. The challenge was devised by the diabolical blogdramedy, who has concocted another challenge this year, BlogFestivus 2012.
The game this year is to write 243 words a day* for the nine days between December 11 and 19. Each day’s writing will include one of the nine reindeer:
A new journal. I always hesitate to sully the virgin white paper with the slash of my pen, but it gets easier once the first cut is made. I rest now from my latest project, a shelf to hold more of the books that keep me company at night. It feels good to work with my hands, practicing my craft that I may forget awhile that this is just another in an endless parade of empty and meaningless days.
I was haunted, standing there, surrounded by drops of water falling onto rotting leaves like footsteps of creatures invisible in the darkness. The house in front of me shimmered as if surrounded by a field of energy that embraced it like a possessive mother clinging with ghostly fingers.
A weekly writing challenge site has a prompt for writing “something completely different.” (Bonus points if you read that and immediately heard a British accent say, “And now for something completely different.”)
The first time I participated in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), I got a start on a novel that I have never really stopped working on. I’ve added to the story, made notes and outlines, and I’ve done exercises. One exercise came from the book, The Weekend Novelist, by Robert J. Ray.