Daily story, December 24, 2024

On Christmas Eve, the last window of my advent calendar leapt down and ran out into the street. I gave chase, swift-slippered, my dressing gown billowing. The day was cold and clear, and passers by called “Merry Christmas!” as I pursued the fleeing card rectangle along the pavements. It was small and nimble, darting through fences and dog’s legs, but on the straights I had the advantage. I finally ran it down on the school playing fields, when it encountered a puddle too large to go around. Between being caught and being soggy, it chose being caught.

“I’m sorry,” the window said. “I ran because I’m ashamed. I don’t have any chocolate inside me.”

I reassured it, and fearful but brave, it swung open. The chocolate inside was shiny and fragrant and rich and perfect. We walked home together, singing carols.