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Christmas On Earth Stephen Tully Dierks “I see a face,” said Ana. “Scrub, scrub the face, until it is clean.” “I see many faces,” said Richard. “I see a hill of heads.” “Spooky,” said Steve. “Are they disembodied?” “They’re alive,” said Richard. “I see a great stout tree with a hole inside it, from its roots to the sky,” said Maggie. “Yes, a hole,” said Steve. “I like holes,” said Ana. “I keep thinking the word ‘nothing,’” said Wang. “Just that word.” “I like thinking of the word ‘nothing’ as ‘no-thing,’” said Steve. “It’s in a forest,” said Maggie. “The tree.” “I went with my father,” said Ana. “To cut down a tree. We drove for three hours. But we never cut down a tree.” “Do you yell ‘timber’ when you cut down a tree?” said Steve. “We always yelled ‘timber.’” “I would yell ‘geronimo,’ maybe,” said Wang. “I didn’t want to be young when I was young, but I didn’t want to be old either,” said Deirdre. “Now I’m older, and I don’t want to be older, but I don’t want to be younger either.” “Fuck my life,” said Ana. “Damn,” said Wang. “I would like to ‘get my fuck on,’ I think,” said Richard. “Yeah, me too,” said Steve. “I love sex,” said Ana. “I can’t believe it was me that did all the fucking I did,” said Deirdre. “It doesn’t seem real anymore. Was that me, all those times? What was I thinking while it was happening?” “What is there to think about?” said Maggie. “I just thought the word ‘why’ but it registered simultaneously as ‘how,’” said Steve. “Damn,” said Wang. “I just tried to think the word ‘why’ and couldn’t do it.” “I’m alone,” said Ana.

This Is Christmas Metazen  

A book of literary Christmas fiction by 47 various authors.

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