An Imaginary Journal: Remembering Christmas 2014

by Anatolia Kozinski

 

 

January 3rd, 2050, Looking Back on a Past Christmas

 

It was the year 2014:  A monumental time in my young life; it was a year of joy and sorrow, of seasonal and cultural discord, ending with an educating abnormality (our move to Australia), and coming home. Christmas that year, was for once, however, absolutely normal. I wasn’t worried as it approached, because, well, Christmas this year, as opposed to 2013, did not mean moving to a strange land.

I remember clearly our debate over the Christmas tree, that is, where it should go. I remember my brother, attached to our traditional spot, clingy and pleading and groping for control of the fatal decision like an anxious squirrel. To think he is now a marriage counselor! I think it was his value of tradition, which of course, I always admired, in rare moments when there wasn’t chaos intertwined.

I felt fresh from the snowy forest where we had cut down the tree; the crisp air rejuvenated my mind and most importantly my limbs to start doing something else besides cleaning or typing on my computer. I wish I could have that youthful energy again. Oh to be young! With my energy renewed, I heartily joined in the debate. I voted for a new and improved position, which harbored a bit of the tradition of the places of the past. My grandparents stood by giving practical, sweet grandparent-advice in phlegmatic, experienced, polite tones. After much arguing, the atmosphere emanating with depression, seething voices, and disgust towards the betrayer of tradition, that is, me, my mom called in my dad, playing the ‘head of the house’ card. Dad was to make the decision. As he came in like a big square with legs, there was a moment of refreshing silence. He is still a square now, and hasn’t really changed, although his beard is white and he has finally grown it out to a Gandalf-like length.

Anyway, it was time. Dad strolled around cheerfully, weighing each idea in his head. Everybody tried to lobby cunningly, and Grandpa ordered it to stop right away with his peaceful manner. I had a feeling Dad would chose my spot (he he) so I waited almost patiently. Well, he did, choosing the homey feel of the little corner I wanted, in memory of his Long Island home wherein his family had always put the tree in corner. TJ immediately flopped on the couch in sorrow with his head down. I felt rather bad. The decision, however, had been made, and I had a feeling that TJ’s Christmas tree desires would be fulfilled if he would only look at the tree.

I struggled with Grandpa beneath our lovely tree to drill the stupid thingamigs into the trunk so it would stand. Many times we did this, eventually emerging from the tree dripping wet with melted snow slowly dripping off the branches. Little did I know that the innocent cuteness of the tree was made possible through the grudging, exhausting experience of those who delved into the bowels of the darkness beneath.

After this, the decorating began, during which I received many spiteful remarks from some unnamed siblings. Lights circled the tree bedecked with electric magic as I struggled to attach the golden star atop the highest bough, as they say. Soon the whole endeavor was finished, something that felt new and old at the same time each year.

Millions of present lay underneath, reminding me of a Frank Sinatra Christmas song. Although they weren’t about Jesus really, there was a subtle truth in them. They were the carriers of traditions, as Jesus was. To think how long ago that was, I can’t believe how old Justin Bieber sounds. That’s old-school “man”.

As I looked at the symmetry and softness, as well as the ruggedness and strength of the tree, I saw memories. Each light rang a little bell in my mind.  I saw memories of previously discussed arguments, harmonies, discords, little siblings, love, sorrow, and many other various and random things. I saw the different parts comprising the tree itself, and I saw in it the representation of the history of life. Mostly, I gave my love to the tree, because it had become a symbol of memory and tradition, just as Christ, by being born, had become a physical symbol of Himself, of Love.

 

 

Lost

by Fiachra Rottinghaus

Where once shone love, love is no more;

Oil drips down onto the floor

In a room without a door.

Immortal husk without a chance

Trapped within a final dance.

Doomed to live, a darkened light

Cursed to linger in the night

Dark what once shone dazzling bright.

Yearns towards peace he’ll never find,

Doomed to live within his mind,

While his shell still stands defined.

Fading in the dark alone;

He is lost, he will never go home.





 

Roar

by Abby Logan

Once in the land of Sodius, ruled by King Griffith, lived a Harium Goblin named Roar.

Soduis was a very interesting land, ruled by good kings, evil dragons, and a couple of evil kings thrown in, too.  Among all these were the Goblins.  Some were incredibly evil, with slime dripping of their reptilian skin, but others were like the Harium Goblins.  Harium Goblins were large, almost eight feet tall, with a furry body like that of a human, feet of a cat, and husky dog ears.  Their noses were upturned too, giving them a fierce and yet strangely cute air.

Roar was such a Goblin, and as brave as he was, was one of King Griffith's best warriors.  He was large and could wield a battle axe quite effectively against slimy goblins and giant dragons.

One time in the year of the reign of the 31st Hundred king, King Griffith the Kind and Strong, as he was called, Roar heard of a battle to be waged between King Griffith and wicked King Berne. Roar naturally was called to fight in this fearsome battle.  He decided he  better bring his invisibility cloak as well.  After all it might come in handy. He'd found the cloak floating in a river, three years ago.  It had a spell cast on it from an evil sorcerer who had once roamed the Claddel Mountains.  The cloak had, up until then, been used for evil purposes.  Once Roar had found it though, he had decided to put it to good use.

Once on  the battle field, after King Berne had commanded his minions to attack, Roar slipped on his cloak.  Instantly he was rendered invisible. Now that the enemy could not see him, he damaged their numbers greatly.  He went about smashing their ugly skulls with his immense hammer.  While he was distracted by two large brutes, who were giving him a hard time, even without being able to see him, an arrow pierced his back.  Now, arrows did not do much harm to Roar, for he was a mighty Harium Goblin, but it did start a tear in his cloak.

As he kept plowing through the ranks of King Berne, the tear began to widen and spread, as grasping hands tried to catch the Goblin. At last, the cloak could take it no longer and rent in half, right down the middle, leaving the tied half visible around Roar's neck. Roar was oblivious to the fact that the minions could now see him.  He continued to smash heads and bones.

Some minions gathered at his back, bows at the ready.  The command was given and they shot 40 arrows into his back.  One arrow, was not a big hindrence, but if you've ever been shot by 40, you know it is no small pain. The Goblin fell to his knees, grunting in pain.  The minions surrounded him, watching as he rolled onto his stomach, dirtying his soft belly hair.

King Berne who had been watching the proceedings, glided through the dense circle of armor clad minions, to address once and for all, the fallen Goblin:"So, you will die at last, Roar, by the hands of my foolish henchmen," he sneered. Roar did not answer, he merely glanced up sullenly.

"Well, my courts will rejoice when your pelt is placed as a rug at the foot of my throne."  With that he swung his sword where it would drive a lethal blow in the Goblin’s neck, but he did not see the ripped half of cloak at his feet. Somehow, he tripped on it, and fell forward, his arms flailing.  Before Roar had blinked, the wicked king lay dead at his side, impaled by his own sword. Seeing their leader fall, the minions felt all the rage of battle flow from them, and raised their arms in submission.

King Griffith's troops took them into captivity and recovered the body of King Berne.  Roar was submitted to the King's infirmary where he healed up nicely with only the scars to boast. And now all of Sodius wonders at the happenings on that fateful day, when the brave Goblin Roar's cloak killed the king.