In Hungarian traditions, the Santa Clause, a.k.a. Saint Nicolas, a.k.a. Sánta Miklós brings small present at 6th o' December, while on Christmas, the (literally "little", but usually translated as) Baby Jesus brings the presents. How? Why? Those are questions I can nor will not answer.
Lil' Jesus is coming to the town.
And he have brought some gifts for us!
But there was a wee bit
O' misunderstanding,
Because he bought the "Gift" in Germany.
Lil' Jesus is coming to the jail.
The've heard him out and sent away.
This set him up indeed.
He wasn't having it.
So he fled and ran across the sea.
Lil' Jesus is coming to the farm.
He's hungry and haven't eaten lang
Syne he want some wheat
And wash it down with mead
Lil' Jesus is about to get pissed.
Lil' Jesus is still at the farm.
The world's spinning and it can't be stopped.
He wants some bacon now,
But he can't, that's not allowed.
So he goes in a dark room and lies down.
Lil' Jesus is settled in the farm.
He's a proud, cow-tipping Texan.
He won't buy gifts no more.
He ain't that kind of folk.
He's two shotguns and on his belt a Colt.
Lil' Jesus has grown up a bit.
He doesn't care of giving away gifts.
For he's a farmer now,
increasing his headcount,
and about to become a rap star.
Lil' Jesus is now his rapper name.
His famous for what he does on stage.
People payed to see him,
he was really liking it.
And that's why your parents buy the gifts.
Writing began at 08 nov 2021 and was put on hold for the better part of 2022 until publishing.
Throughout my years as a writer, I found myself unable to write on command. Every time I am faced with restrictions, deadlines or the possibility of working with unlike-minded individuals, whether it is a short story, a song or as simple as a letter, my mind seems to freeze and to actively deter inspiration, preventing ideas to form and prosper in what otherwise would be the perfect habitat for them...
I'm lost in the light
I'm lusting the void
People around me
Are nothing, but noise
I am surrounded
There's nowhere to go
The lack of the bright
Is where I feel home
Written at 17 August 2021
"No!" The angry student exclaimed, "I told you already! This is it! I refuse to change any of it!" He threw his papers in the air and stormed out of the lecture hall.
"What was that about?" asked the curious bystander, who helped Mark to pick up the angry student's essay.
"Just another art student refusing criticism," he said as he looked at his empty wrist, "do you know what time is it?"
"It's 11:05," she revealed with morbid casualty.
Written for 24 hour flash story writing competition, given theme was Ruthless Ambition.
This was a writing practice in preparation for a 300 word flash story writing competition. 2/2 people who read it seemed to like it, so now it's here.
Randomly chosen theme was Justice.