Entry #1: Santa’s New Line by Jaime Samms

Paul aimed a savage kick at the glittering drift of white across his path. Clammy wind picked up the disturbed flakes and smattered them into his face. The rest settled into the stillness of the deserted Boxing Day evening.
“Not even a real good snow,” he muttered as he rounded the corner and walked smack into a mouthful of down-filled nylon.
“Sorry!” Strong fingers gripped Paul’s arm. Their owner craned to look past him down the empty street, then slumped. He apologized a few more times, brushed non-existent dirt from Paul’s coat. “Sorry.” His hand settled on Paul’s chest and his eyes widened.
Paul’s heart thumped. The man’s delicate, gorgeous face brightened inside the frame of blonde hair flowing from under a scarlet toque. His puffy jacket didn’t disguise his height or willow-slender frame. Just Paul’s type, and Paul didn’t have words for the radiant colour of his eyes; like a warm hearth.
“You—” Paul swallowed. “You’re from away.”
The man smiled, dropped his hand from Paul’s heart and Paul’s breath caught. “A little further north.” A grin stretched across delicate features, revealing small, straight teeth and perfect dimples. Paul’s heart stuttered.
“N-North? There’s something north of here?”
The grin disappeared. “Um, well.” The man shrank in on himself. “There’s–. Right. I’m from away.”
Paul’s heart just about stopped at the sight of the pink infusing his cheeks, and smouldering intensity replacing the glow in his gaze. It took Paul a second to realize he was still talking.
“Sorry. I’m a little lost. I heard bells,” he pointed past Paul, “and I thought…” Paul saw a question in the golden glow and wanted, very much, to be the answer.
“Thought?” Paul prompted, searching for his equilibrium.
“Never mind.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, walked back the way he’d come.
“Wait!” Paul hurried after him. “Wait. Your name?”
The man shivered and lifted the shoulders of his jacket, inadequate for keeping the freezing wind off his delectable long neck. Paul shook himself and focused on the hair that hid the man’s face.
“Kriss.”
“As in Kriss Kringle?”
“Kriss Danforth, actually.”
He set off again. His long legs carried him quickly, making Paul jog to catch up. They reached the next corner, Kriss stopped, glanced around, then set off toward the lonely high school and hockey arena.
“Where are you going?”
Kriss slowed, stopped. “I—.”
“Where are you staying?”
Wind blasted against their backs, blew Kriss off balance. He shivered, and tried to dig deeper into his coat. His cheeks reddened as he offered Paul a worn scrap of paper.
“Doesn’t say where I should go.” Paul looked at the yellowed note in Kriss’ hand. Green sharpie words scrawled across it. The bottom dropped out of Paul’s stomach.
“Where did you get that?”
“I’ve had it forever. Been trying for years to find the boy who wrote it.”
Paul took the paper. “He isn’t a boy anymore.” He didn’t have to read the words. He’d written them, years ago, one Christmas Eve long after he’d stopped believing in Santa.
“I know that. I’m not an idiot.” Kriss moved closer, surrounded Paul with comforting heat. Damp wind cut around them, picked up a few dry leaves and scurried them away down the sidewalk. “You know him.”
“I did once.” Paul gazed at the paper.
“You still do,” Kriss’ voice touched him, soft, gentle. “You still want what he wanted.”
Paul nodded. “Someone who understands.”
“Well?” A smile infused Kriss’s voice, speeding Paul’s already pounding heart.
“I kinda meant, you know, for my father to understand. Or my brother.”
“And do they?”
“I suppose.”
“So that isn’t really what you asked for.”
“Maybe not.” Paul found more than just understanding shining from Kriss, and the ‘more’ heated him from the inside out. “This isn’t quite the kind of thing anyone expects Santa to bring him for Christmas.”
“Let’s just say he’s branched out a bit. Walmart is pretty stiff competition, you know.” Warm fingers cupped Paul’s cheek. “No refund policy, though.”
Paul stepped into the tenderness Kriss offered. “Doesn’t need one.”
Around them, big flakes of snow drifted down. Paul was too busy being kissed to notice.

Holiday Flash Fiction Contest

Spread the love this holiday season. We’re looking for romantic flash pieces set around a December holiday. Come on all you fellow writers, strut your stuff at the Playground!

 

Length: 500 – 700 words

 

Last day to enter: December 20^th

 

Winner will be chosen by Jambrea, Kensana, and Cindy on December 22nd from the top three most popular entries (as shown by number of positive comments)

 

Prizes: Two books from the Playground Mystique Library (winner’s choice) and a Cindy original beaded necklace and earring set.

 

Email entries to playgroundmystique@gmail.com then encourage your friends to stop by and show you some love!

Dare to Scare Writing Contest

This Halloween, as part of the Wicked and Wild Halloween Bash, we’re hosting the inaugural Dare to Scare Flash Fiction contest, right here at Playground Mystique!

THIS MUST BE A NEW STORY.  Unpublished and not submitted to any other contest. Submit your 500-600 word spooky, creepy, or just plain frightening flash fiction. The winner will be chosen by reader poll, results to be announced Halloween night.

The winning story will be featured on Playground Mystique plus the author wins a treat bag that’s getting fatter by the minute (so far we have gift certificates, books, author services and more to come!). Send entries to by October 24, 2008 to: playgroundmystique-owner@yahoogroups.com.  Then come by Playground Mystique between October 25 and October 31 to vote for your favorite. For all the gory details go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/playgroundmystique/files/

So give us your best shot…we dare you to scare us!