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Every year at Christmas, my brother throws a "short story" party. About 10ish people write a story ...Christmas story maybe?", and they all sit around on the given evening and read their stories one by one, drinking rum, etc.
A few years ago, he called and invited (commanded) me to write one, so I did. I'm not a writer, but was pleased with my heartwarming lovely tale, of a small girl, who kinda learns the meaning of Christmas...
After the reading (which is in Oregon, I'm in AZ) they sent me a copy of all the stories. Death and Destruction...one was titled "Christmas is Hell", and it went downhill from there. I looked like such a girl scout! OMG
So, the following year, I wrote an 'edgy' story (I thought)..umm, apparently no edges in sight...Dammit
Year three, we had a break
We are into year four, and I wrote a story about a lunch lady who had worked for 30 years at the same elementary school, and on her last day, Christmas break, kills everyone (arsenic poisoning)
Think I have evolved?...lol

THE LAST DAY
Jessica Miller






The last day…it didn’t seem possible. After 30 long years, it was a hard concept to believe. Mary contemplated the last years as she dressed for the day. In all those years, she had only missed two days of work; and that was when Roger had died. She remembered the questioning looks she had received when she took her normal place in the lunch line the day after his burial. She knew everyone had felt a little sorry for her, and it had felt good to know that they cared. But, sooner than expected, the daily routine settled in again, and she was no longer noticed. She sighed to herself as she finished the last of her morning toiletry. Her gray, almost white, hair was curled in the same style she had worn during her 30 year career as a lunch lady at the local elementary school. Her dark blue dress with its crisp white collar reminded her of something her mother had worn, as much as she could remember of her. As she looked upon herself in the mirror, her thoughts wandered back to her childhood.

Her parents had died, one after the other, when she was 6. Mother, in a car accident; and Father, in an accident in the mines. And then came the orphanage. For the first few years, she never left the orphanage. She was taught at the school on the grounds, oh , and what a life it was. Always cold and hungry, being teased and tormented by the other orphans, and treated just as badly by the nuns who ran it. There were no holidays celebrated there, no birthdays, and no joy When she turned 12, she would be sent off the grounds to the public school during the day. When the time approached, she met it with excitement, looking forward to leaving her prison, if only by day. The wonder quickly faded when she realized that public school was worse. Everyone was aware she came from the orphanage and used the knowledge as a weapon. No friends, no family, no love. What a miserable childhood. “No matter”, she thought, as she looked at the figure in the mirror. “It’s life.”

She’d been preparing for this day for a long time, before Roger had died, and Billy, before him. She paused midway through her packing and took a moment to relive those relationships. The fifteen years with Billy had been rocky, to say the least. It had taken a toll on Billy and herself, both; a pity it had led to an early demise at 45. Billy wasn’t all bad. He loved her cooking; bragged about it to his friends. With little money, Mary had learned to can, and garden, and bargain with the shopkeepers. She kept a good house, and tried to keep the peace, but Billy was headstrong, wild and just a little crazy. Poor Billy, how she had loved him, and how sorry she was that he had to die so young.

Roger was another story. She had barely lifted a finger as he lay dying on their bed. He deserved every minute of suffering he was going through, in light of the life he had given her. Stupid, stupid Roger; things could have been so different. It seemed like the cheating, lying, and alcohol had caught up with him at last. Stupid Roger.

Mary had been married to Don at 18. After her parents had died, and she had spent all those years in the orphanage, Don had looked like a knight in shining armor. He was going to whisk her away on his Harley, and they would live happily ever after. Well, she didn’t know how to be a wife, and he didn’t know how to support one. The trouble started immediately. When she lost the baby that year, right before Christmas, he just up and left. She had never heard from him since. A shadow crossed her wrinkled, tired face. At this moment, she wished she could see Don again, just one more time.

Shaking off the melancholy that had come over her, Mary set her sights on the task at hand. All of her Christmas gifts were going into boxes, to be carted to the school. Every year, she had made jar after jar of jams and jellies to pass out as presents. She was certain that her co-workers and the children’s’ parents were expecting it. The thought gave her a sudden lift of joy. The Christmas cookie exchange also happened to be scheduled for this afternoon, so in the boxes went the 12 dozen cookies for the exchange. My, what a day this will be! Her limbs weren’t quite as limber now, and her steps were heavier, and was it possible the jars weighed more? After several trips, everything was loaded into her tan station wagon, and with a last look around, she was off.

Mrs. MacArthur, the principal, was just finishing her morning sermon on the loud speaker when she caught a glimpse of Mary, wheeling a cart towards the cafeteria. “Mary, I understand this is your last day? We’ll certainly miss you!” Pat MacArthur had rarely noticed the small, quiet woman. Mary had been as much a fixture at the school as the playground equipment, and the alarm bell; always there, but not something Pat had to address, acknowledge or care about one way or the other. Already, her attention had drifted, when she saw that Mary was holding out a jar of Strawberry preserves in her hand. “Just a little something to say Merry Christmas”, Mary was saying. The principal started to shake her head with a ‘no thank you’, but remembered the dinner party scheduled for later that evening. “Mary, I’ve been meaning to make a new recipe, Pork with a Strawberry glaze, and this would absolutely fit the bill. Thank you so much! I have 12 coming for dinner, and was wondering if I had time to stop at the store to buy jam. Merry Christmas!” The principal turned away, and then paused. “Oh, and Mary? Thanks again for your years of service to us…how many was it again?” Mary was about to answer but MacArthur was already halfway down the sidewalk. “Thirty” she thought to herself, as she continued on through the halls.

Leslie was coming out of her classroom door as Mary pulled her cart by. Leslie had been a teacher at the school almost as long as Mary had been a lunch lady. Even so, the two had had little more than a passing friendship. Leslie mostly kept to herself, shy and unassuming. As Mary held out her offering, Leslie gave her a smile. “I’m so glad to have this, Mary. I’m planning on giving out baked goods this year for gifts. I’m afraid my salary isn’t stretching very far. This jam will be nice in my jelly rolls”. Mary gave her a warm and understanding smile. She knew that a school teacher’s wages didn’t allow for much. “Merry Christmas, Leslie” she said, as she wheeled along.
She passed out her gifts to everyone she saw; Gus the maintenance worker, Martha, her cafeteria aide, the secretary in the office, the bus driver. As she noticed the time, she knew it was almost time to take her place at her station for the early lunch children. She hurried to finish her last deliveries.

Debbie was a sweet soul. Although Mary and Debbie didn’t have much in common, Mary had always felt that Debbie was the one person she could have been good friends with. “Not that I would know what to do with a really good friend”, Mary thought to herself. Debbie, however, was always busy. Not only did she work full time at the school, but also volunteered for several different charities, and was on the board of a few of them. A really nice person, Mary thought. When she finally tracked Debbie down, she was happy to see that Debbie wasn’t busy. “I’ve brought you a Christmas offering”, said Mary, holding out the jar. Debbie’s face lit up. “Oh Mary, how nice of you! I was hoping you would bring me some! You see, we are doing a thing for the homeless this Christmas season, and we will be making PB&J’s to hand out! Any chance I could steal more than one jar from you? It would mean so much to the less fortunate!” Mary beamed at her “Of course you can, I have about four more you can have! The rest has to go home with some of the parents of course, but you are welcome to take those four, if it’ll help!” “Mary you are a saint, and may God bless you!”
“Well Debbie, I have to scoot if I’m to be on time!! “Debbie laughed as Mary picked up the handle of her cart and walked away.

Lunch time this day, as every other day, was hectic. Mary dolled out the offering of the day to the children, who at this point (being the last day of school before the winter break) were twice as noisy, and twice as uncontrollable. The din in the cafeteria was almost deafening. Second lunch period was just as bad. It was finally over. Mary started to help with the cleanup, when one of the girls working looked at her and said, “Let it go Mary. You’ve done enough cleaning here over the years. Go ahead and relax until schools out. You deserve it!” No goodbye, but kind, nonetheless.

She took her place at the entrance of the school grounds, waiting for the last bell to ring. Soon, all the children will spew forth, looking forward to their Christmas vacation and running to jump on the bus for home. She had made little bags of her special jam thumbprint cookies to hand out to each of them to take and share with their families. Her heart warmed at the thought of the excitement the children were feeling now. So much different from her own childhood. Sometimes, when she thought of her life, it always seemed to come through as the color gray. Just gray. As she waited, Mary allowed herself to wonder how it felt to be loved, and excited as a child. To tell the truth, the anticipation she was feeling now had to be just as good, or so she thought. The bell rang, and one by one the kids ran through, barely stopping long enough to grab a bag and hear Mary’s parting ‘Goodbye, Merry Christmas’, before loading into the bus or waiting cars. She waved at them all as they pulled away and turned to go to the teachers lounge, where she knew the tired and worn out teachers would be wanting to do their annual exchange of cookie before calling it a week themselves

The cookie exchange never lasted long. Everyone had brought twelve dozen of their cookies, (Mary bringing her ‘famous’ jam thumbprint ones), and they each took one dozen of each kind home with them. Mary declined to take any with her, saying that it would be too much for just her to eat, and did they want her to get fat? All the girls laughed, and after some pleasantries, and a few words said about how they would miss her (some heartfelt, and some perfunctionary), the day was over. As she turned to leave, Mary gave a parting glance to the people gathered who had been so much a part of her past, said her final goodbyes and left. Walking thru the gates of the school was liberating and she felt light as she got into her car for the drive home.

As Mary removed her coat in the entryway of her tiny home, she started to go over the day’s events. What a nice day it had been, and what a relief it was over. Everything had gone so well, and she felt that the last day at work had been a perfect one. Mary removed the starched dress, wrapped herself in her favorite chenille robe and went back into the kitchen. The room was chilly as she turned on the stove to heat the water in the teapot.
“Toast and tea, on a cold night. What a lovely ending”. She poured a cup of Earl Grey, slathered some homemade jam on the browned bread, and went to sit at the kitchen table. Mary smiled as she took the first bite and thought to herself, “You can’t taste the arsenic at all!”

AWESOME story and very good ) Loved the story line. You are very good

lol.. thank you! I felt good about the loss of human life by the hand of a sweet little old woman..haha Merry Christmas?

I can just imagine what would happen if outsiders came into that town...and finding it dead because everyone died from that arsenic.

Kind of serves them right in a way though, she seemed to go so under appreciated for so many years. I wonder how hard it would be to trace something like that? Not that it would matter. She committed suicide at the end.

Thanks for reading it! I sent along home made jam with the story as a special treat....lol

I think I'll pass on the jam after reading this. lol.