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My Days Till ChristmasMy days till Christmas
Are spent in waiting
An empty house
A creaky kitchen
Only a single string of colourful lights
Along the banister
And a tiny tree with presents
Meant for someone who's home far away
Enjoying the maddening company
As for me, I know
Home's not far away for me either.
But I can't go,
I must stay and grow up
Work and study
And wonder what my purpose is in life.
I must miss the traditions,
Picking a tree from a frozen-lit parking lot
And bringing it home
To make it shine.
Or waking up every morning until Christmas eve day
To read the funny little notes
Mum stashed in the advent calendar.
I don't get to bother my dad with Christmas songs,
Call him a Grinch and joke about his Christmas spirit.
I don't get to sit in the glow
And write my awful poems
Or my stories about Santa's elves
And the North Pole.
I don't get to watch the holiday movies
I've known by heart since childhood.
For me, it's another day,
Not another day closer,
In the Waiting RoomCHARACTER(S):
HENRY: 55 year old construction worker.
In a hospital waiting area, late evening.
One chair center-stage, sounds of hospital activity in the background
HENRY trudges on stage and sits down on a chair. He leans back and crosses his arms. He leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees. He notices the person to his right.
Who're you here for? (pause) That's nice… (sighs) Everybody's having babies these days. I guess six or seven billion ain't enough. You think it's a girl? Well, that's good. But just wait 'till she grows up—then you'll be in for more than you bargained for. (pause) Me? Have kids? Naah, never really got around to it. But my cousin, she got four little monkeys of her own and I see them as much as I might with my own kids. If I had any.
HENRY pulls out a stick of gum and unwraps it.
So what is it you do? You look like you got some kind of office job. No? Then what's the tie for? Oh, travelling salesman. Sorry,
Up on Mt. WashingtonThe distant smell of snow hangs in the air,
drifting flakes carry
soft and quiet,
Deadly, calm, absolute.
Jaw locked and limbs trembling,
I stand and take in the serenity
of all things blanketed in white.
Up high on the mountain
the wind is bitter cold
So I retreat to my fleece,
my false flickering fire
and the carpet beneath my toes.
Melt away, you nips of snow, and leave your ache behind.
I carry a song
numb on my lips
As I gaze out over the high landscape of frozen clouds,
above and below.
A small voice is carried on the wind
To ride the surface
of that howling silence.
The Dark and the DanceYou are the joyous ballroom jive,
While I am the patter of guns in the night.
Your face is bright and clear and earnest,
And mine is dull and grim.
I sit and wallow,
I think of endless things gone wrong,
All left behind,
You think of sunshine and smile.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More