Here is a little Christmas themed short story.


My favourite Christmas took place many years ago when I was only a child.

Before everything in life was complicated.

I was only around 8 or 9, and I barely remember it, yet it is my favorite memory. My father was home for the season and my mother had just had my baby brother. My sister was on holiday from school and everything was peaceful.

We were the most like a normal family we had ever been.

You see, my father was always away for work and my mother was normally ill in bed. Her health was never the best. My sister, three years my senior, was at a boarding school in southern Wales. I was always alone.

But this Christmas, everything was different.

My father was laughing and  playing with my new brother.

My mother was up smiling and teaching my sister to sew.

Both my parents offered for me to join them in their tasks, but I denied.

I simply wanted to watch.

How I regret that now.

This was the last good Christmas.

The last good anything.

When new years came my family went back into their regular routines, never to break them again.

I stayed until my eighteenth birthday when I finally moved on.

But for the decade until I left I always held the memory of that Christmas dear.

Perhaps that is why now that I am old and gray, and haven’t talked to my family in over half a century, I still remember it now.

My favourite Christmas.

Glad I got that done.

I had no inspiration.

Until next time,