Okay, so to be honest I can’t really do anything but write – and even that I don’t do that well. However, here goes: JustHuddy’s secret Santa. I’m sorry for the failure. Really. Truly.
It seems to me, most good stories start with a location, whether it be Privet Drive or the Shire, people like to know where they are at. If you were to ask the location of this story, I would describe a perfectly ordinary suburban road, equipped with trees, houses, cars, and probably a fairly annoying dog or two that wakes you up in the middle of the night with some well timed howling. I’d say that the sky was filled with shining, twinkling lights, and that the bitter chill of winter bit at the skin of even those who sat by crackling fires, surrounded by the warmth of love, family and several layers of clothes. I might describe the slight breeze that ran its chill fingers through the hair of anyone who choose to step into the darkness, or the crisp snow that would have crunched in protest of the weight pressed upon it, compacting in on itself and making the soles of a poor, unfortunate souls shoes wet and iced with frozen water.
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