Home Read What's New Join
My Account Login

Read Our Devotional             2016 Opportunities to be Published             Detailed Navigation

The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge



how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level


submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners

Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.



how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Christmas Cards (11/06/08)

TITLE: Merry Christmas, Christopher
By Melanie Kerr


The dog curled up beside Angelo’s chair raised his head and grumbled softly. A moment or two later there was a knock on the door.

It was late. The only light in the room came from the dull glow of the fire, burned down to its embers. The room away from the fire was chilly.

A rush of wintry rain gusted through the small crack of the open door. A man stood there, a soldier, dressed in a battle stained uniform, a thin blanket cast about his shoulders. Against the dark night, Angelo could see a pale face, cheeks hollowed out, eyes sunken in their sockets. War made old men of young boys. Angelo guessed that he couldn’t have been much older than sixteen or seventeen.

“Trade?” the boy asked in hesitant Italian.

A notice had filtered through the village just that morning that they were not to trade with the soldiers encamped a few miles out of the village. Food was scarce enough. Angelo, however, had developed a taste for chocolate. H e loved the sensation of it melting on his tongue. It was in short supply and the British soldiers seemed willing to trade their rations for a jug of milk or few ounces of polenta.

Angelo opened the door wider, gesturing the boy to come into the kitchen. The dog dragged himself to his feet and sauntered over to sniff at the gloved hand offered to him.

The boy shed the back pack he had been carrying, placing it carefully on the kitchen table. He pulled off his gloves, chaffing his hands together, before setting about untying the leather cords.

A brass embossed box nestled on the top of items of clothing that had been carefully folded and packed in the duffle bag. It was either a new box, or something that the soldier took care to look after. It wasn’t eaten by rust, or tarnished by mud. On the lid of the box the head of a young girl surrounded by a laurel leaf garland stood out in relief. A sword and scabbard decorated one corner of the box. There was something written in Latin along the side that Angelo couldn’t quite make out. The wording was flanked by battle ships on a stormy sea.

The boy opened the box and tipped the contents onto the table. He lined up a pipe, a lighter, and a small envelope of tobacco in front of him. A box of twenty cigarettes in a yellow monogrammed wrapper was pushed into a back pocket. There was also a bullet pencil, a packet of sweets and a slab of chocolate still in its wrapper.

Angelo bent down to pick up a card that had slid off the table and floated to the floor. It was bound with string.

“That’s from Princess Mary! It’s a Christmas card!” The boy was proud of the card, smoothing it down with his finger. Last month, so he had been told, the princess had created the Sailors’ and Soldiers’ Christmas Fund. Everyone had been willing to contribute. All those who wore the King’s uniform and were serving overseas on Christmas Day 1914 were honoured with a “gift from the nation”.

There was one last item tucked into the box. It was another card. This one was made by hand from a small rectangle of cardboard. Angelo could see that it had been cut from a cereal box and had been folded over. The coarse card had been decorated with simple pictures. There was a typical manger scene with a Madonna and child surrounded by bright yellow halos. A number of other characters appeared on the card.

“That’s my brother, Kenneth.” The boy pointed to the first figure in a group of four. It had a round smiling face with wild, curly brown hair. “This one here is my mother, Elsie. That’s my father, George. He is a school teacher so he isn’t fighting in the war. And that’s my sister Elizabeth. She made it for me.”

Angelo traced the letters along the bottom, forming the words with his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Christopher…may Jesus keep you safe and bring you home.”

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.

This article has been read 1691 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Allison Egley 11/14/08
Your descriptions were very good.

I felt the ending was a bit abrupt. I expected there to be more, although I'm not quite sure what. :)

Great job, though. Loved the card from his sister!
Joanne Sher 11/16/08
Wonderful atmosphere and sense of place. Your descriptions were very vivid. Beautiful. Thank you!
Colin Swann11/16/08
A different and interesting take on this week's topic. Being British I was surprised that we had a reputation in the first world war for trading. Then the Americans had that in the second world war - maybe wrongly too.
Angela M. Baker-Bridge11/16/08
This was so real for me...my father used to tell me stories about what it was like growing up in Italy during WWII. Dad would have loved this.
Marlene Austin11/19/08
Expertly written. Very nice. :)
Celeste Ammirata11/19/08
Very sweet story with wonderful descriptions. Wonderful job.