Christmas Revisited (standard:romance, 1423 words)
Author: Cyrano	Added: Dec 18 2008	Views/Reads: 2983/1801	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
On Christmas Eve a writer is given a wish...a chance to inspire a young man.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


‘I never found it easy to write, Katherine, truly, yet I love each new
story as if it's a new born child. The feeling that an idea might never 
happen for me...” His voice breaks. It's the most fearful thing I can 
imagine, for there is no one to fight, nothing to experience, nothing 
to me.' 

Katherine moves from her chair to her knees, resting her hand on his
leg. 

‘Listen to me, Tom, if you could be given any wish in the world,
anything you wanted, what would you wish for?' 

Tom looks quizzically at her. 

‘What a strange thing to ask, Katherine.' 

‘It's almost Christmas. Shoot for it, one wish. Think of one. Something
dear to your heart.'  He smiles at her enthusiasm, rests his head and 
closes his eyes. 

The clock strikes midnight. 

It is Christmas Eve, 1969 

The door is unlocked. 

A youth lay on a bed in a shaft of Parisian moonlight, pointing in from
a tiny window high in the wall, tears streaming from his eyes, staring 
at the ceiling, motionless. 

‘What the hell is this....' the boy cries, seeing the shadow standing
over him. 

‘I'm a friend. Tell me, what is your sadness?' 

The room is scarce of furniture but for one small table with books piled
on, some cheese, and a lamp. 

‘A friend? I have none. All I can say in my defense is I like to write,
I love to write, and as for the rest of it you may just be a madman on 
my deathbed. Tell me your name, sir.' 

‘I'm Mr. Nobody, from nowhere. I came, perhaps, because I, above anyone,
know your destiny, the man you want to be. But look at you, nothing but 
a loser, your hair gone wild, romancing about this being your last 
breath while characters are shuffling their feet, waiting to be born 
forever. Show me what you've been doing before you gave up on 
yourself.' 

The boy offers up sheets of crumpled paper. Mr. Nobody scans through
them, reading till dawn. 

‘Today is Christmas Day. I believe in you, believe that you must work at
your craft, that your energy and vitality pumps through your veins, 
words form, and those words give life to heroes and villains. You've 
written something every day of your life, finishing one book and 
beginning another. This is not the time to give up.' 

Mr. Nobody steps back toward the door, taking a long last look at the
youth huddled over his desk, writing. 

‘Tom, he says quietly, you got to finish these stories; you got to get
them published and begin others, my whole life depends on it. You've 
got to write about all those characters I loved and laughed with, It's 
up to you, Tom. Everything I am, everything I want to be is now in your 
hands. Do you understand? 

‘Yes, sir.' 

Mr. Nobody from nowhere left the room. Snow was falling on Christmas
Day. 

Tom awoke from his daze. 

‘Katherine! God, that was so weird, really, so weird.' 

‘What was weird, darling, you've been dozing in your chair.' 

‘Dreamt I found a boy, shut himself up in a room in Paris, just a
whippersnapper. Given up on five million words; given up on ever 
becoming a writer.' 

‘Why?' 

‘I don't know...he said it had left him, that maybe he could no longer
write at all. I swear, given up on five million words. Resigned to 
never writing another word. I thought that just happened to people like 
me.' 

‘You helped him?' 

‘I guess I believed in him.' 

‘Tom, I cannot help you write, cannot make the ideas come, but I'm
always here for you. That's all.  I think you have to say to yourself 
that maybe you were there for that young man. Here, this is just a 
little something for you. Happy Christmas, Darling.' 

Tom opens the beautifully wrapped parcel.  Inside is a book. His eyes
widened with surprise. He reads the inscription. 

“I believe in you, believe that you must work at your craft, that your
energy and vitality pumps through your veins, words form, and those 
words give life to heroes and villains. You've written something every 
day of your life, but more importantly you've given me joy. Let love 
always be the stone on which you sharpen the keen edge of your spirit. 
Have a good trip Do your best for him.  Merry Christmas, darling. I 
love you. Katherine.” 


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