I basically wanted to write a story about, well, basically what happened to me at the age of five. When my parents told me the truth and got tired of hiding presents from us. We were three rowdy boys always searching the house for the hidden Christmas gifts, I think my older brother was the one that forced us to look for them.
I might not be able to post a new 100 word story today as I will be attending a friend's wedding, although if inspiration hits me while imbibing free alcohol at the bar I'll be sure to write it down with the notebook and pen I'll be carrying at all times.
Enjoy this updated story.
*picture is originally from http://www.visualtherapyonline.com/?p=617
I took my son down by the frozen lake.
I remember my father taking me down here. A rite of passage. Yeah. That’s what he called it. I gripped my son’s five year-old hand, it’s his turn now, he can handle this.
Past the half-dead oak, through a nightmarish tunnel of brambles and thorns, we make it to that spot— the place where it all happened. Where my world was shattered from Truth. Forever.
I kneel down facing my son. So innocent, just like I was.
“Webster, you’re a big boy. Now. You need to hear this… Santa isn’t real.”