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Giving or receiving gifts is a part of this time of year for many people. On that note, have a gift form part of your story. What, who, why etc. is all up to you as long as the story involves a gift.
500 words maximum, by December 31.
Not sure what exactly is happening. Maybe old age is catching me up but I posted this already. There was an amusing intro about how it’s too long and how I’d have to take my chances. And so on. Anyway, it is too long (by loads), so I will have to take my chances.
The Stoggy
I’m a magical creature called a stoggy. Don’t get too excited because we’re not that different from you. We’ve never been ones for spells or whatever, we just live for ages. Our ancestral memory develops over time, so we know we’re stoggies. And we recognise each other. Oh yes, there’s our individual talents: our gifts. I never knew what mine was until that Christmas—but hang on, I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m a hundred and fifteen, although most of my neighbours reckon about seventy-five. I realised I was a stoggy when I was seven. It was around then that I bumped into Ben Groves at school. He was a stoggy too. There were others as the years went by. I had a great life as a schoolteacher, married my Pam, who’s been gone thirty years now. It can get a bit lonely, truth to tell.
Ben Groves, he was a laugh. Always up to something, but good-natured. Always kind. I suppose Ben was my best friend. He was the first to realise what his gift was. I remember now, walking home from school with the Pritchard sisters about ten yards ahead of us. Ben was telling me how he’d give anything to go out with Val, when he stopped dead.
‘Blimey!’ he went. ‘I know my gift. But I haven’t a clue what it means. I can do something brilliant in the future.’
Other stoggies got normal gifts. George Tully could fix people who fell ill from their own stupidity. Wendy Smith made everybody happy on first entering the room. Carol Cheavers could give people wonderful dreams. But we puzzled over Ben’s gift.
They all drifted away over the decades. I know some younger stoggies now, but it’s not the same.
They didn’t all drift away. Ben got ill. George couldn’t fix him.
‘He’s not ill because he’s been stupid. It’s just bad luck.’
I held his hand at the end. He was still cheerful.
‘I’ve had an amazing life,’ he said. Then, ‘Blimey! I know…’
But what he knew, he never said. That was a lifetime ago. And in all the time since then, I never found out what my gift was, until a year ago.
It was Christmas Eve. I had just set up the final trestle table in the village hall—we do a full turkey dinner for the homeless. As I stood and looked a voice spoke to me. Sounded like my own, but also not my own.
‘You can do something brilliant with the past.’
So that’s it, at last, I thought. Doesn’t mean a thing and it’s a bit bloody late but there you have it.
Christmas day shot by, and I was knackered, I can tell you. I got home in the evening and sat staring into the dark.
‘Ay ay!’
I nearly wet myself. There was Ben, sat opposite on the settee. Half a second later and Carol’s beside him.
‘Well, I never thought I’d end up here at Christmas.’ It was George warming his hands on the radiator. Over the next minute, half a dozen more stoggies we knew popped up. Then Wendy walked in, and everybody felt amazingly happy.
‘It’s me,’ said Ben, ‘I was lying there holding Frank’s hand and now I’m doing something amazing in the future. I’ve brought us all here.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘So that was your gift.’ Then I looked round the room. ‘Do you remember the last time we were all together?’
Then it happened. I did remember, but not just like “yep, sure, wasn’t it a long time ago”. I remembered it as though it was yesterday. Literally. Every tiny detail was there. My jaw dropped and I wasn’t the only one open-mouthed.
‘It’s not just me, is it?’ I said. ‘I think I realise what my gift is. I’m doing something amazing with the past. Hang on, who remembers when Ben asked Val to the school dance?’ No sooner had I spoken than I could visualise Ben in his new suit, flowers in hand. And on the settee Ben’s eyes were like dinner plates.
‘I can see her,’ he shouted. ‘I can see her in her blue dress. She’s standing there.’
‘More to the point,’ George looked like he was in pain with laughter, ‘I can see you in your suit.’
And that’s how the evening played out. We talked and laughed and drank our way through my drinks cabinet and nearly all my home-brew until past midnight. But most of all, we remembered.
There was a lull in the conversation, and I sat back, contentedly. I heard Ben speak.
‘Same time next year?’
And when I opened my eyes, the room was empty.
This year, I’ve bought a bit more booze. And sandwiches.
@athelstone, that was an enjoyable story. I liked how you interpreted the prompt. A deserving winner to end the year. Over to you.
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