Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(1 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

It was the Christmas'Eve and the priest had come to bless our house. But this year, there was no candy for me and my sister, for we had lost our innocence. We could see by the look in his eyes, by the hand that held the cross, protective, that lambs had turned to wolfs, doves were now ravens. As I bowed to kiss the old, cracked cross, I could see that for me it no longer shone. My faith in God was buried deep inside my soul, too deep to penetrate the thick walls of my mind. I felt sorry for it, living in a tomb for who knows how much time from that moment. Then the priest left, his black robe barely touching the floor. As I looked in my sister's eyes, I could see the ghost of this Christmas, the ghosts of the following covered in mud rather than snow. For we had lost our innocence, our childhood, our Christmas.


Related Items


The following comments are for "White Christmas, black Christmas"
by Dew Of Blood

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.