Every once in a blue moon, the mood to pull a short story off the scrap heap and post it strikes my fancy. Most, like Tan Daddy, were written as part of short fiction or flash fiction competitions. Others were simply jotted down in a frenzy. Words cobbled together, later to form something coherent.
Others yet are what happens when I'm left alone on long drives across the wintry desert. This is one of those:
Christmas Glare
Owen Harbor detested the Christmas season. One simple thing did not bring this distaste. Long-ranging were the reasons. Cold weather, snow, being merry, tinsel and silver bells were not among a few of their favorite things.
It’s not that Owen openly fought against joy. It’s just they never made a concerted effort to embrace it. One thing, however, did bring a glow to their black heart. Every year, a brazen attempt was made to divide the masses and then delightfully watch arguments unfurl. Hovering over a keyboard, words were typed out with fitful glee: Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.
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