Carol of the Bells

A short piece of homework for AS Creative Writing.

Mark stood away from the church, hands jammed under his armpits, breathing clouds from his nose. Music drifted from the gathered congregation - Christmas music. Carol of the Bells - adding to the atmosphere of the dark and snowy evening. The way the church was built warped the sound of music, drowned out the actual singing, and made it seem somehow softer, as though every note was the dull toll of the eponymous bells. Mark liked it. It was nice.

Alisha joined him in leaning on the low brick wall. She was so cold, bless her heart, with teeth chattering and shoulders shaking. Mark fancied he could see ice form on her dark skin.

She turned to him. “Shut up,” she managed, with every syllable jittering as her lungs shook.

“I’m sorry, but you’re a state.”

“That’s easy for you to say, but I won’t apologise for getting used to the Moroccan sun.”

“You’ve gone soft.” Mark turned his face to obscure his smile.

“Says he.” Alisha paused. “I didn’t realise you worked Christmases.”

“This is the first Christmas I’ve missed in 6 years. Jessica will be devastated.”

The silence said so much more than ‘I’m sorry’ could have. That’s what Mark liked about Alisha; she was young and brash but she spoke honestly, with no amount of false humility. You wouldn’t think these traits would make for a good spy, but stranger things had happened.

“What intel has this guy got?” Drawing straight to the topic at hand. Very Alisha.

“The name,” Mark replied. “This is big stuff. The biggest leak we’ll have plugged in a long time.”

“He’s in there?” She looked over her shoulder to the church, still ringing with songs of celebration.

“Yep. He refused to give us anything until he had finished the Christmas eve service.”

Alisha nodded, slowly. “Do you like Christmas?”

He shrugged. “It’s a nice idea.”

“I hate it, myself.”

“That’s just cold.”

They shared the laugh, letting float away with the music. Mark felt oddly happy, like, for the first time in ages, he was able to enjoy a tiny moment away from pressures of fatherhood or state security. Just having a laugh, with his friend, on Christmas eve, letting their cares drift from them like a Christmas Carol in the snow.

Then Alisha hit him, with the butt of her gun, right in the head. She hit him again and again and again, each blow impacting as every bell rang, until he died. The snow around his head began to turn crimson.

Reviews

[Laura Williamson]

James, your mind must be a wonderful place as it comes up with such brilliant pieces of writing. Your work is genuinely mind blowing.

I'm just going to go and read this again.

[Elizabeth Bainbridge]

Wow! I was not expecting that ending at all, I think I am still in shock! That was so cleverly written, You made sure it wasn't too soppy and I would love to know where you think the story could develop from here.