A New Year’s Tale

I hope you like this heartwarming tale about ringing in the new year.

A New Year’s Tale

Joey Oldyear sat back in his couch with a glass of wine and thought about how rich and full his life was, how he had witnessed the world and experienced so much. Wait, that was just the alcohol talking. Joey’s life consisted of everything from the past year stuffed inside his head, growing as the year went on. Imagine that, every gust of wind and bawling kid, every high tide and bathroom break. All crowding around his head along with celebrity gossip and world changing events.

Oh and if that wasn’t enough, Joey wasn’t quite a year old and he already looked like he was eighty years old, with a cliche white beard to boot. He remembered when he was Joey Newyear, a fresh faced kid who didn’t mind wearing only a diaper and sash bearing the year. Back then it was cute. Now it just made him look like a creepy pervert.

Being a figurative representation of a unit of time really sucked. You’d think it would be a glamorous job filled with fame and scantily dressed seconds, but it wasn’t. He was relegated to a small room in the back of a hollowed out eon, with only a couch and a hotplate to call his own.

And now an upstart little tyke was sauntering up, rosy faced and clearheaded. He grinned and danced a bit, making giggly baby sounds as he showed off his brand new sash, which wasn’t tattered and stained with chili sauce like Joey’s.

“Hey there,” the kid said. “I’m Matt Newyear!” He giggled again and sat in Joey’s lap. “You must be the old year.” Matt tugged at Joey’s beard. “A really old year.”

“Piss off,” Joey said, shoving the brat off the couch.

“No,” Matt said. “It’s my time now. And that’s my couch.”

“It isn’t yours until midnight in every time zone,” Joey said. “Now go bother someone else.”

“I want to bother you,” Matt said. “I’ve never seen a tired old man before.”

Joey stood up. “I am not old! If I was human, I’d just be learning how to walk!”

“You look old to me.” Matt cocked his head like a puppy. “I doubt you can even hold your bladder.”

“Neither can you, baby new year,” Joey said. Man, he remembered being this annoying when he was a new year, but this was different. This time he was only the receiving end of the cocky new replacement’s sass. Well, he could give as good as he got.

Matt looked down at his diaper. “I… I’m only wearing it for the tradition of it all. I’m quite potty trained.”

“Right,” Joey said. “Sure you are.”

“I am!” Matt said. He shook his head. “Wait, we’re getting off track. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about your frailty and senility?”

“I’m not too frail to take you on,” Joey said. He would have rolled up his sleeves if he had been wearing a shirt. “Come on shorty, let’s rumble.”

“Hold that thought,” Matt said. He looked at his wrist as if he was wearing a watch. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six – ”

“What the hell are you doing?” Joey asked.

Matt held up his hand. “Three, two one.”

Joey grasped his heart and fell to the ground. Matt stepped over the body and climbed onto the couch. “Happy New Year,” he said with a smirk.

The Story of Chaos – An insane challenge

Rebekah, the wizard behind the curtain at this blog, has started a new blog, The Story of Chaos. The Story of Chaos is an interactive fiction writing challenge, where Rebekah will post an ongoing story, while encouraging her readers to post in the comments what happens next.

Here’s more info:

The Story of Chaos is a challenge, where you help write the story. Part choose your own adventure, part tale, you will have your chance at the end to decide what happens next. The challenge will be mine, to try and make the story as serious as possible, while encouraging you to post the most ridiculous choices you can think of. Have the character attacked by alien or discover his long lost twin in the form of a talking flea.

Just make sure that you only post what happens immediately next.




Suddenly Billy found that his arm had turned into a rope.


Suddenly Billy found that his arm had turned into a rope that spoke to him about how much danger he was in from the clown warriors that were about to invade and steal his soul in an empty jar of seltzer.


And make sure the action is something the character can react to and not a decision.




Billy found himself attacked by the purple dog.


Billy bopped the purple dog on the head and called it a Momma’s Boy.


That’s it. Have fun, go wild and laugh at my struggle to make it serious. (Well, there will be some humor, but only because you can’t have a serious story without it. Actually you can, but it would be pretty dull.)