Forgotten Tales Of The North Pole

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic


I'm posting this story to finally get my work onto the internet. I picked this piece because I feel it illustrates my writing style pretty well. The story wrote about eight years ago while I was
bored in civics class. (And never finished) Feel free to post your comments, corrections, feeling, etc.

Submitted: May 26, 2018

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Submitted: May 26, 2018

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Clouds of flack and the green flick of tracers illuminated the night sky. Explosion after explosion shrapnel hit the craft; leaving gray scars on the crimson red paint. But above the exploding shells and the whine of bullets another noise was heard in the sky; the soft jingling of bells and the low bellow of “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet, on Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen! But not even Santa's finest reindeer with over 10,000 hours of flight time could get him out of this one. He swerved to the left, then he swerved right. Yet the flack only kept coming closer. Santa looked out from below him just as two machine gun rounds ripped through the back of his sleigh. Adjusting his hat and wiping his brow, Santa then nervously reached towards the mic to make a transmission to the North pole. “This is Sierra Charlie X-Ray” he said with a tremble in his voice “Sleigh is under heavy small arms and Anti Aircraft fire. Standby for SITREP, Over.” With nothing but static over the net Santa began to feel the weight of the situation. He and his eight reindeer were stranded and he was the only one he could count on to get himself out. As he set the mic down he peeked up to his reindeer. Santa knew what was about to come before it happened. Two rounds blasted through vixens head. Spattering brains and bone on Santa's face. The sleigh was shaky now and was going out of control. The reindeer control icon was flashing and all emergency flight deck indicators were screaming high pitch alarms into his eardrums. More explosions riddled the craft and then a high explosive flack shell exploded underneath the reindeer. Prancer, Comet and Cupid were killed instantly. The absence of one reindeer was enough to send the sleigh out of control but four were dead, hanging by the reigns that held them together. Santa uncovered his face and looked up to inspect his beloved reindeer. Seeing them lifeless, hanging by the reins he knew there was only one thing that he could do if he wanted to make it out alive; drop the reindeer. With his hands shaking faster then jingle bells he slowly reached towards the emergency reindeer release. But as he yanked the release it failed to operate and the four reindeer continued to hang. Santa needed to think fast the weight of the reindeer was causing the sleigh to rapidly descend and more and more small arms fire was beginning to ricochet off the underbelly of the sleigh. Thinking fast Santa reached to the back of his sleigh where the bag of toys sat. But as he went to grab the bag the faces of millions of disappointed children flashed through his mind. “What if I make it out of here and I have nothing to give to the children?” He thought to himself. “I myself will have ruined Christmas” But that thought was quickly terminated when he glimpsed at the reindeer heart rate monitor. Dasher and dancers BPM was well over 200 and climbing. If there was ever going to be another Christmas he needed to act now. After a small tear fell from his cheek Santa took the bag and tossed it out of the sleigh. Immediately the sleigh began to increase momentum and the reindeer gauges began to even out. But Santa wasn't home free yet he still had to make it out of the barrage of anti aircraft fire. At the top of his voice Santa shouted to his reindeer. “Dasher, Dancer, Donder, Blitzen! Climb my boys climb!” With all their might the reindeer pulled the sleigh higher and higher but it was to no avail. The sleigh was stabilizing at only 12,000 feet and the flack wasn't getting any thinner. Santa was running out of ideas. The explosion was breathtaking. A flack round landed a direct hit on the sleigh; all instrument panels were destroyed and Santa's legs dangled where the floor existed just moments ago. The pain in his shin quickly brought Santa to his senses. With his vision blurred and ears ringing Santa ran his mitten down his leg. “Holy Santa Clause shit!” he yelped. His hand quickly retreated away and the pain left him breathless. Examining his leg through the staccato of tracer rounds and cracked spectacles he saw what looked to be a piece of his sleigh jutting from his leg. With his mind racing Santa knew his only option now; get on the ground


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