The Killing Of Christmas #writephoto #flashfiction

Sergeant Crimpson wiped his eyes. This year he’d get the Son of a … Sure he knew he’d not be popular but defending the homeland against foreign invaders had been his life’s work and he’d been successful, one hundred damn percent…

Except he hadn’t. Nope, every damn year since he gained his gunner’s badge and undertaken  to defend the Land of the Free against every damn slime ball, ne’er-do-well and guttersnipe he’d ended it with a conspicuous failure. 

He could set his watch by it as the radar began to blink, tracking the incoming as it sped across the Atlantic, following the clock as it ran down.

In the early days it had needed line of sight but despite catching the image on screen none of the spotters ever saw a thing in time for a firing.

Nowadays they had homing and tracking and Crimpson could send up the All Seeing Eye in the shape of three hundred drones and still he’d evaded capture.

But this year Sergeant Crimpson had cracked it, he was sure. He’d worked with the boffins at MIT, providing them with all the data he’d gathered in the thirty years he’d been in the job. And they’d run complex programmes which showed the route taken was the same every time. Using the latest in infrared ballistics he’d pre set a series of missiles to catch the invader at the lowest trajectory, as he sped over the Nevada desert. 

Crimpson chewed on his cigar, these days sadly unlit due to damn sissy rules on smoke in the workplace and watched the monitor. At exactly two minutes to the hour as the sun just began to set a haze of missile jets pierced the sky and…


Crimpson leant forward. Damn it, he’d done it. He’d actually done it. He’d got that bloody Claus fella, blown him and his sleigh and those unquarantined deer of his, right out of the sky. He let his mind race. He’d be on Fox News, he’d be up for a congressional medal. He might even be the subject of a Presidential tweet, the ultimate accolade. 

It was then he realised something odd was happening. Even while the smoke from the obliterated sleigh was still dispersing high over the desert, he could see the colour was draining out of the landscape. The nearest hills had already gone black and the furthest away we’re beginning to lose their definition.

Surely those fools hadn’t been right? Surely there was no truth in the suggestion that the nation that killed Santa would have all the joy drained out of it? Oh goodness, what had he done?

This is written in response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge and prompt

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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25 Responses to The Killing Of Christmas #writephoto #flashfiction

  1. Aw, poor Santa. And maybe a lesson learned? 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Excellent – and so it is!! The moral of course is do your research thoroughly and never dismiss the ‘old wives tales’ 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ritu says:

    See… Santa is sacred!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I wondered what happened.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Darlene says:

    Oh dear. A cautionary tale. Happy Christmas to you and yours.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. willowdot21 says:

    Serve him bloody right

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Mick Canning says:

    I think they’ve already had the joy drained…

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Sue Vincent says:

    There is always one who ‘knows’ best’… until they don’t. Ignore the old ones at your peril…

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Love this tale. I agree. Without Santa, the color would drain from the world. I love the color the holidays bring.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. George says:

    A very topical allegory about the folly in trying to rid a land of the “foreign invader”.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Pingback: The Killing Of Christmas~ Geoff Le Pard #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

  12. noelleg44 says:

    A clever story with a real Christmas meaning! Good on ya, Geoff!

    Liked by 1 person

  13. Pingback: Photo prompt round-up: Setting #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

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