The 24 Days of Christmas Challenge
Day 15: Ten Wicked Walkers
The pounding in his ears grew louder as his breathing became more
laboured. It was harder and harder to concentrate, to keep his eyes
open. He blinked his eyes rapidly, forcing them to focus amid the
growing darkness. Blurry shapes moved in the distance like black smoke
in the wind. The more he tried to fixated on the shapes, the faster
they seemed to move; swaying backwards and forwards with the beating of
his heart. Boom, boom, boom.
Trying to reach out to the shadows and make them stand still he
realised that his fingers and hands had gone cold. The dexturous digits
he was accustomed to had instead been replaced with heavy bricks that
refused to listen to his wishes. Everything below his waist was like
ice, sending violent and debilitating bolts of pain into him as he
tried to twist round. He wanted to scream out and call someone to help
him, to let anyone know of his anguish, but instead all he heard was
the relentless thumping in his chest. Boom, boom, boom.
All he could do was collapse backwards, falling into the only
support he had left. The hard surface pressing into his back providing
his only comfort. Then in a cruel twist something slipped from beneath
him and he came swiftly crashing to the ground, the pain that followed
made red blotches in his eyes. His back contorted in agony but its cry
was lost in the ever loundening rhythm that invaded his body. Boom,
Salty beads of sweat that had coursed down his hair began to drip
into his eyes. His fading vision now completely distorted and obscured
beyond his control. The blurry shadows began to move faster, seemeing
to grow larger as he watched, transfixed by their intricate dance. The
shapes faded in and out of sight, as if in procession before him. He
counted them as they passed, ten wicked walkers that
ignored him completely, left him abandoned and discarded in their path.
Their movements resonated with the resolute sound within his being.
Boom, boom, boom.
When he thought that all hope was lost and his eyes began to close,
the eleventh shadow leared large in front of him. He imagined he could
feel the warm breath on his face, his last link to the experiences of
his past. A dim light suddenly sparkled in the darkness, carving a
beautiful crescent across his sky, then joined by a sound other than
the endless beat.
“This un ‘ere’s still alive, boss.” The voice spoke. Its language
harsh and cruel to his blood-filled ears, but still distinct against
The light flared once again then quickly plummeted towards him as a
brillant shard of ice plunged into his chest. The cold began to spread
throughout the remains of his body, infecting all that he could still
feel; consuming his being in a suffocating tomb of endless winter.
In that final moment before the cold light took him he realised that the pounding has stopped. His fight was over.
On a lighter note....
They had lost their transport at the Ford of Bruinen. Did the Elves
think that would stop them? Did they think they were now helpless? No!
Nothing would stop them from their appointed rounds.
They helped each other out of the icy, enchanted waters. Wringing water
from their clothes, they sat on the river’s edge. Some slumped in
discouragement; others held their heads low.
They knew what He would say to them… “You are ten wicked walkers,
losing those gifts, and you are no longer in my employ. I will find
others to deliver the presents!” Santa said. “You’re fired!”
Ten Wicked Walkers - A Drabble
When Aragorn had agreed to help Arwen with her Christmas shopping he
had no idea that she meant for him to be her pack animal and carry the
steadily growing pile of presents she was purchasing while she made her
way around all three levels of the Mall of Gondor.
Suddenly he heard an elderly woman’s voice loudly screech “Get out of
the way Sonny!” from behind just before he was knocked face down which
sent the presents flying. Then he was trampled by a group of ten wicked
walkers of the Mall as they huffed and puffed past him.
It was a dark and stormy night when suddenly a shout
rang out! A door slammed, a maid screamed! Suddenly a corsair ship
appeared upon the horizon!
It shot through the air and landed at Ioreth's feet where it bounced
with a loud ringing sound, its glass bottle surprisingly intact, unlike
the last one the old retired captain had thrown. She really needed to
talk to him about the way he pitched his ships.
She had just bent down to fetch it when she heard the pounding and
grumbling building up behind her. All of the hall doors opened at once.
Almost too late she scrambled to get out of the way as ten wicked walkers
approached, their grey rubber feet thumping upon the floor as the
little wizened men in linen nightshirts all crowded into one another in
a tangled, geriatric traffic jam, each one declaring loudly that he was
the most important patient in the Houses of Healing and the others
better get out of the way!
"Sprinkles! Sprinkles for Gondor!"
"Fie! They're mine!"
Why oh why, she wondered, couldn't they just stay puy and have the
Christmas cookies for the old soldiers brought to them in their beds?