This is the first part of a four part short story I wrote for my church’s advent calendar. Our writer’s group, Word Workers, has daily writings posted through-out Advent, including stories, memories, reflections, poems, and more. You can find the calendar at AllSaintsMTKA.org.
Magnus Stonhart shuffled through the chill, dark night while the knapsack slung over his shoulder glowed and thrummed and emanated sweet smells of all varieties. He preferred to work at night, when the world stilled and the crowds dispersed. Alone, he roamed the empty streets to gather sensations wherever he could. On summer nights it was pleasant, but the warmth of summer had waned. Christmas was near and the damp, cold night air clung to his skin, leaving a chill he could not shake even as he entered his workshop.
With an exhale, he set the heavy pack on the wooden table. He pulled loose the drawstrings and began to unpack. He removed the sensations one at a time, careful lest one drops or shatters. He sorted them out into their drawers: smells, temperatures, the large collections of sights.
A gentle knock on the workshop door roused him from his meditative movements. Outside stood a tall, thin man with a gray cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The man held a golden glowing memory in his hands.
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