The Contradictite

[Author's Note: This was a story I wrote either as part of my Creative Writing class or else as part of my school's writing group, a product of the class. It's a black comedy about Christmas.] “Season’s Greetings” said the Christmas card. It featured a painting involving a white mother sitting in a snow-covered barn, holding a white baby in her arms. Her white husband sat next to her, admiring the glow coming from the baby’s head. To the right of the barn gathered a flock of white shepherds. To the left stood three white men in fancy silk, holding a chest, an incense ball and some burial spices. Above the barn was a bright star, centered above an Aryan angel. Matthew Waine held the card in his hand. He shook his head at it. “I never knew there were so many white folk in the Middle East,” he said to his preoccupied cat as he set up the Christmas card on his fireplace mantle, to show off all the Christmas cards he had received, in hopes of adding to the Christmas décor t...

[Author's Note: This was written in December for the Litmas 2005 competition on deviantArt. It did not win. It plays with the idea of X-mas, treating the X like the Roman numeral for 10. That's what the dec- in December is for, after all.] Cell Sixteen in The Laboratory shined with red and green lights, blinking on and off, causing a yellow light to pour into the hallway. Clenoin peeked his head into the door as he walked past. “Someone else decorating for X-ember?” he asked Kakaisha, who was partially obscured by a cabinet. Kakaisha leaned to the side as she stared into a beaker. It glowed faintly with a reddish tint. “What’s that, Clen?” Surrounding her were several shelves of the red, glowing bottles. The computer’s monochrome screen contributed the green. Together they flickered, illuminating the room in a festive manner. Clenoin looked away shyly. “Nothing, Kakaisha.” He shuffled his feet as he tried not to make eye contact with the woman. She resumed her note taking...