Friday December 23rd, 2011

The exercise:

Heading into the final few days of Christmas week, we write today about: snowballs.

I'm away at the moment but should have net access again starting tonight. But just in case I've got another post scheduled for tomorrow.


"This is stupid... maybe we should just give up and ask Frosty to take over," Miguel said, scooping up two handfuls of snow and forcing them into a lumpy snowball.

"You're just grumpy because you finally sobered up," Rosa chided him, hoping to raise his spirits as they followed the path through the trees from the workshop to their dormitory.

"No, I'm grumpy because we've been searching all over the North Pole for Santa for days now and we haven't turned up so much as a piece of red fluff," Miguel said before winding up and firing his snowball as hard as he could at the nearest shrub.

The two elves had taken another four or five strides before they realized that neither of them had uttered the Ow they'd just heard.


Cathryn Leigh said...

Oh my gooses! I’m responding on the day the blog was posted. How novel. :} Snowballs, eh? I already had some being tossed about. Good think I’ve established that there’s snow on the ground.

“So?” Tina looked at Noah, “Do you have any idea of what an appraisal is?”
Noah shook his head, he was watching Julia. “Do you think she believes?”
“No point in hoping,” Tina sighed. “Fairy sight skips a generation remember. One of their kids will get it.”
Noah sat down on the branch in desolation causing a flurry of snow to fall off it.
“Noah! Would you watch it,” Tina exclaimed fell off the branch and had to flutter back up. “You know if...” Suddenly she froze.
Noah looked down wide eyed at the girl who was now standing closer to the tree. She was definitely looking at them, or rather, the sock. Her puzzled expression changed to one of determination. Gathering up some snow she patted it into a ball and tried to knock the snowball down.
“Noah, leave the sock and get inside,” Tina whispered.
“It’s the only thing of Grandmother Patricia I have,” he sniffed.
Another snowball went wide of its mark.
“And if the snow hits you...” Tina shrieked as she flew out of the way.
Noah looked up as he and the sock tumbled to the ground. The landing was soft, but cold, oh so cold. Tina zoomed to his side and tried to help him up, but the girl shook the sock and the snow hit her wings. Knocked to the ground she was now as helpless as Noah.

Anonymous said...


The only ones I can relate to are those made of marshmallow, coated in chocolate and coconut. Forget snowfalls. Forget snowmen. I know nothing of those. Mm, snowballs, so sweet and not at all cold. Team them with hot chocolate in winter or, in summer, a glass of Milo with the crusty chocolate sprinkle top and you have a ready made meal. (The heart foundation might not approve).
I had very few as a child, maybe one or two at a friend's birthday party - fun food was the only thing that made such occasions bearable. I was such a shy child.
I made up for it when I could buy my own to share with my young family. Somehow, playing hopscotch with your kids on the pavement in the hot sun and munching on sickly sweet snowballs can make you feel incredibly young, too.

I can't eat them now. They don't agree with me. That's the price of aging. Luckily I gorged when I could.

Greg said...

@Cathryn: I'm really enjoying your story this week, and I'm impressed with how you're managing all of Marc's Christmas prompts without talking about Christmas at all. I'm a little worried for Noah now, though.

@Writebite: nice to see you back! I think I've seen the snowballs you're referring to, but they're not really a UK thing. Also Milo – that seems to be very popular down in the Southern hemisphere, but I've only seen it once in the UK, and I think it was brought back from the southern hemisphere by someone from there.

@Marc: Rosa's a canny one, isn't she? If Miguel hadn't thrown that random snowball Santa would have frozen to death and she'd have made it look like an accident! Assuming that it's Santa who said 'Ow' of course :)

"Why are we running towards the shrapnel-loaded explosions?" panted Santa, already out of breath after fifty feet. The fat suit, though largely air, made running much harder, like running through water.
"Because that's where the Elf will be, tampering with the machines," said Frosty. "It's a clever idea really; spike the sack of presents with shrapnel bombs and then all it has to do is follow you and feast on the carnage."
"And how are we going to stop the Elf when we catch it?"
"Huh." Frosty slowed to a stop. "I hadn't thought of that."
"What?!" Santa skidded to a halt as well. "What do you mean, you hadn't thought of that. What's the knife for? Or the... the turkey baster?"
"They're just part of the Frosty the Snowman costume," said Frosty. "Hallowe'en joke, remember? But Elves can't be harmed by steel, we'd need magnetic iron. I suppose we could try artificial inseminating it, but I don't think that would kill it." He squeezed the bulb of the turkey baster and goose fat dribbled out.
"Is that it? Bad jokes and and admission that we're hunting something we can't stop if we catch it? And what have I trodden in?" He looked down, trying to work out what he'd skidded on.
"One of the workers," said Frosty, looking down also. "You can still see its legs."
Santa grimaced. He hated the fact that all the workers in his workshop were bred from spiders and had eight arms and legs, as well as eight eyes, but they were very fast and dextrous. And they did very good detail work with the painting and sculpting.
"What else kills Elves?"
"Alcohol," said Frosty. "Dissolves them. It's a weird one, always made me wonder if they were somehow related to slugs."
"And where are we going to find alcohol in the workshop?" said Santa.
"Ah," said Frosty. "Now that I can do. Snowball?"
A cocktail shaker appeared in his hand, and he rattled it happily.
"Another Hallowe'en addition?" asked Santa.
"Oh yes!"

Marc said...

Elor - yeah, that's one of the nice things about scheduled posts - I can actually put them up at a reasonable time :P

Poor Noah really is determined to find out what's going on!

Writebite - holy moly, those sound absolutely terrible for me. Must be why I'm wanting one now :P

Greg - sigh, so, so determined to prove Rosa is guilty :P

My, what strange workers your Santa employs. Fun story :D