|The Tin Cup - A Christmas Story
Sunday, November 25th, 2012 12:49pm
|"The Tin Cup" is a short story I wrote two years ago as both a parable, and a simple way to celebrate Christmas. It's a simple, yet touching look at the true meaning of Christmas, and an illustration of the purpose for Christ's nativity. The story is free for you to read, share and enjoy with others all you want. And now, for the story. If you like what you read, download the complete work at the bottom.
The Tin Cup
Donald walked along the street in front of the massive building that housed his multi-national investment firm and grumbled to himself from inside his expensive, custom tailored winter jacket.
"What a lousy day for the limo to break down," he muttered to himself.
He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pressed the record button.
"Note to self. Fire the mechanic for being an idiot. Oh, and shift the core assets of the McGondal account. We need to maximize those profits as quickly as possible before someone gets the bright idea to cash it in to help out Foodbank. The last thing we need is someone else wasting perfectly good food on another group of worthless beggars."
He pressed the stop button as a shiver of cold trickled through his body. He then looked around at the abandoned streets and wondered where his ride was. A gust of wind grabbed a nearby pile of snow, lifted it in the air and tossed it at him as though it were starting a gigantic snowball fight. Donald grumbled inwardly as the cold nipped painfully at his face. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He was going to give someone a piece of his mind for this affront to his person. Nobody left him just standing out here like this freezing to death! He flipped open his phone and stared in disbelief at its display. He had no signal, and in the middle of Manhattan of all places!
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" he growled.
The wind again threw a pile of snow at him and seemed to laugh in his ear as he retreated deeper into his coat to fend off the cold. He looked desperately up and down the street both ways in search of the sedan that was to take him home in time for Christmas eve. But there was no sign of it anywhere. In fact, there wasn't even a single car or sign of life anywhere. The canyons of New York were literally a ghost town. Deciding not to brave the cold any longer, he turned back to the building and tried to go back inside. But to his dismay the doors were locked. Inside it was dark, and there was no sign of the guard staff anywhere.
"Blasted rent-a-cops. I'll have to speak with the landlord about them! This is intolerable!" he roared.
The wind seemed to laugh at his predicament and then dumped another frigid dose of snow down his collar. Donald squirmed in discomfort as the icy blast invaded his coat and spilled down his back. He pulled out his cell phone again, but found that he still had no signal.
"I make millions of dollars every second, and yet I stand here like a common beggar on the street freezing my skin off because those morons at the phone company can't keep their gear properly maintained!" he roared in frustration.
"Millions per second, eh? You sound fairly successful," came a voice behind him.
Donald spun in surprise to find a shabbily dressed man with a dirty face and crooked teeth staring back at him.
"Oh great. Not only am I left to freeze, now I'm being mugged too!" he thought. "Yes, I make lots of money. What's it to you? Do you want my wallet!?" he screamed.
But the man only laughed. This puzzled Donald.
"Not at all. I just saw that you were cold and thought that you might want a little shelter while you wait for your ride," said the man.
Donald cocked his head slightly.
"Are you one of the maintenance people from the building?" he asked.
The man chuckled.
"No, just a wanderer who's taking a break from the cold," said the man. He then gestured to his right, and said, "My home is over here. You're welcome to join me if you like."
To read more, download the complete book here in PDF, Epub (Nook, iPad, etc), or Mobi (Kindle) format.
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