A piece of flash fiction that I wrote and that appears on line today for anyone who reads this on December 16th.
Something very unchristmassy !
December 1967- the bumpy shell of the golf ball cracked and spewed out a tight bundle of rubber bands like the ones in the post office. The bands made them fly and get lost in the bluebell wood. There weren’t any bluebells now though, just a floor of rusty leaves stuck together with frost and coated with icing sugar. No sign of the flasher in the woods though. It was too cold for him today.