Awakened (A Christmas Fantasy)

By Vincent Sachar

Nick Parker has already climbed the ladder to success as an in-house corporate attorney. But Nick is dead to Christmas and numb to anything relating to the welfare of others or that touches upon human emotions and imagination. Suddenly, without warning, everything changes. While driving over a mountain in snowy and icy conditions, Nick slides down an embankment and finds himself trapped with his life on the line. A unique encounter proves to be lifesaving and lifechanging. And what happens to Nick creates a chain of wonderful events that impact upon the lives of many others.

In this heartwarming Christmas novella, Nick Parker gains an entirely new perspective on life itself that brings the spirit of Christmas alive. Immerse yourself in Christmas traditions as Nick Parker is exposed to all that he has missed for years.

Awakened (A Christmas Fantasy) is a perfect tool to put a smile on a reader's face, usher in the Holiday Season, and stir the hearts of all who read it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vincent Sachar
• Release date: Nov 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780989813396

Vincent Sachar

BIO Vincent J. Sachar earned his Juris Doctor from St. John's Law School in New York. Despite much success in business, including a position as the youngest executive level Vice President, General Counsel, Corporate Secretary throughout the nation in his industry, Vince is now writing full time. He left his most recent position as a Managing Director in the legal division of a global consulting company. As a hybrid author, Vince has a traditional publisher and also self-publishes. To date, his books have sold in the United States, the UK, Germany, Poland, Australia, South Africa, and India.  Sachar is also an experienced public speaker. In addition to speaking at book events, social clubs, high schools, colleges, universities, libraries, international author conventions, and book clubs, he has addressed crowds large and small (including with foreign language interpreters) and has done so in some very unique situations (such as a prison in Siberia). Sachar also conducts radio and internet interviews across the nation and has provided interviews for prominent author websites. Vince works closely with his wife, Gwen, who among other tasks, provides the first-read of all of Vince's writings. Recently, the Sachars spoke to over 1,200 students in high schools in Virginia and North Carolina. Vince has taught college-level creating writing classes. When speaking to students, Vince not only speaks on the subjects of creative writing, novel writing, and publishing, he and Gwen also stress the significance of developing communication skills and encourage students to live out their dreams. A native New Yorker, Vince and his wife, Gwen, a native of southern Louisiana, met while attending Loyola University in New Orleans. Vince and Gwen currently reside in Florida. For more info, please see Vince's author website at: www.vincentsachar.com.

Book preview

Dedication

To everyone who holds Christmas in a special place in their heart and, in addition to the veneration due its sacred name, keeps the traditions alive from one generation to the next.

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Special Thanks

To my wife, Gwen.

Gwen and I work closely together on all of my books. I do all the writing. I create the storylines, but once I do, she joins the process and the work we each do separately begins to flow together in unison.

From the moment I began writing my first book, Gwen came to me with the offer that she would provide the first read of everything I wrote, regardless of whether it was going to be written with a publisher or self-published. At the same time, she would edit whatever I wrote. I soon learned afterwards that she provides an excellent edit. She has picked up on things in a manuscript that, for the life of me, I have no earthly idea how she ever spotted it. She talks to me about something I have written is confusing. She provides me with a different perspective than the manner and style in which I personally read something.

Gwen handles all the mailouts to people who request an autographed copy of a paperback directly from us and, believe me, there are times when that keeps her very busy.

One of my favorite quotes about authors is from Margaret Chittenden: Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.

Despite the humor in that quote, it carries a great deal of truth. Writing is a very lonely profession. Everything is hidden somewhere within the mind of an author and nothing actually exists until he or she puts those thoughts down in writing. With Gwen, I have another person who knows my characters, knows what I am writing, and can speak to me in a way no one else can while I am immersed in what I'm creating. She keeps someone like me on the sanity side of being an author.

I have always been an excellent speller, with a strong vocabulary, a solid foundation of grammar and sentence construction, and someone with a strong imagination. Yet, at one of the many book events we conducted, someone asked me what my greatest asset as a writer is. My answer was instantaneous: My greatest asset is Gwen.

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Copyright © 2019 by Vincent J. Sachar

All Rights Reserved

Divont Publishers

ISBN:

Vincent J. Sachar, Milton, FL

Chapter One

It's Beginning to Look a Lot

The village was tucked neatly within the confines of a new Vermont ski resort. He paused for a moment and stared down the street taking in all that was ahead. Lights were everywhere. Some were colored, others were clear, some were large, and others were small, even miniature, some were shining brightly, others twinkled and blinked. Some lights looked like they were running headed for somewhere unknown. There were lights that spelled out holiday greetings. He spotted a plethora of Christmas decorations. There were glossy balls in many colors—the kind that mirrored your face and misshaped your nose if you were close enough to stare into one. Some were tiny, others would fit nicely on a living room Christmas tree, and some were larger, much larger than a basketball. There were ribbons, some shaped into a bow, others dangling over a doorway, or attached to a round green wreath. There were sprigs of green pine tree branches, sprinkled with white artificial snow.

Replicas of frozen icicles, with lights inside, hung from the eaves of buildings, generating the impression that winter fairies had visited at night and added to the décor. 

He walked slowly, peering into the storefront windows. Each bore a seasonal display, since every storeowner understood that it would be bad for business to ignore the fact that the Christmas Season was here. Now, with eight days left before Christmas Day, wise merchants sought to squeeze every last benefit from a holiday that demanded that gifts be exchanged.

As he continued his village stroll, he occasionally glanced ahead stretching his vision as far as he could. The sidewalk was wide enough for several people to simultaneously walk alongside each other in opposite directions. The black wrought iron streetlamps situated at the curbs were intermittently spaced at intervals of eight feet. They were electric replicas of the first gas lamps installed back in 1887 on the other side of the country in the City of Los Angeles. Each was decorated with a large red felt bow and small lights shaped in the image of an angel, a Christmas tree, or an elf. The street they bordered was cobblestone, which added significantly to the quaintness of this area.

He spotted figures of elves scurrying about carrying wrapped presents to a huge sleigh attached to eight flying reindeer. There were images of Santa, himself, always jolly, always dressed in red, always with red cheeks and a twinkle in each eye.

There were more decorated Christmas trees than he could count. Most of them bore needles of green, though some were colored white, silver, and even gold. He saw a number of Nativity scenes. Some had statues larger than a human, replete with a baby in a manger, Joseph and Mary, as watchful parents, shepherds, angels, and animals ranging from donkeys, cows, sheep, and camels.

The sun had set hours earlier. Following a dinner with his corporate colleagues, Nick Parker opted for a walk alone in the village rather than returning to his hotel for the night. The out-of-town conference he was attending would last for another two days. He was pleased. Christmas had a tendency to reduce the number of working hours for many of his co-workers and, as the corporate attorney, he was aware of a number of year-end matters that needed to be addressed. Even though a conference at a beautiful Vermont ski resort would include a good deal of time for play and relaxation, they would, at least, get some work done.

Nick was warmly dressed in a winter overcoat and scarf that hid the business casual clothes he was wearing. His hands were well-protected in a pair of faux fur-lined leather gloves. Yet, despite the fact that everyone that he spotted was dressed with heavy clothes, they all in common had red noses, shivering bodies, and breath vapor evidencing the fact that the temperature had plummeted. 

This was without question a uniquely beautiful Christmas Village attraction that had cameras flashing and people in awe. Holiday music was playing everywhere he went as he continued his walk along the cobblestone city streets. Overall, it was an incredible, even majestic, display of anything and everything that was relevant to Christmas. They were things that once carried such a special meaning to Nick Parker before his soul died.

The predictions of an impending snowstorm, along with dire warnings that the accumulation would be heavy, appeared to have little or no impact upon the people still actively walking in and out of shops, making last minute efforts to cross items and names from their holiday list. And Nick could not help but notice that the people he was seeing all seemed to be in a festive mood. Hah! He questioned just how joyful they would be after the first of the year when the invoices and bills came pouring in. Despite pressure to complete their shopping lists, stock the house with foods unique to the holidays, and finalize preparations to either travel or welcome guests, Christmas generated a sense of joy for those who celebrated it. Yes, many were aware of and even turned off by the rampant commercialism that swallowed up what was intended to be a spiritual season proclaiming: joy to the world a child is born. But, regardless of its flaws, it was Christmas, a time and season that originally stirred the hearts and imaginations of countless young boys and girls. That feeling, that stretching of fantasy in the hearts and lives of a child, left an impression that was extremely difficult to let go of as years passed by.

Nick Parker was, however, someone who had succeeded in disavowing Christmas. Too many personal losses, too great a piercing of his own heart, too many dreams that could never be fulfilled had succeeded in Nick's rejection of anything that might warm his heart and put a smile on his face.

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Chapter Two

Christmas is Coming

A few days earlier, Nick was on his way back to the office after taking a short lunch break. He had ordered his lunch to go and was carrying a meatball sub on a foot-long bun of toasted french bread complete with lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, jalapenos, provolone cheese, and a strip of spicy mustard. He also had a cup of hot pasta e fagioli soup and a house salad. Nick was normally not a big eater, but he planned on staying late at the office and would not have dinner later this evening. He wanted to get some extra hours in before he had to head out of town later this week to participate in a three-day corporate conference in Vermont for the company's executive team.

The sidewalk leading to his office building was busy with people also out during the noon hour. But despite all the busy people and the cold weather, he passed that same old homeless man wearing a dirty, torn NY Yankee ballcap and a fatigue design jacket. The man, as usual, was sitting on the sidewalk with his legs covered by an old Army blanket. There was an old wheelchair folded up and leaning on the wall behind him. A small cardboard box sat to his side in the hope that people would drop money in it. The sign attached to it simply stated: NEED HELP, written with a green crayon. The box had some money in it—not much, a few singles, a five-dollar bill, and some scattered coins.

Nick had absolutely no respect, whatsoever, for people like this. Interesting how the man had time to get to his spot on a busy city sidewalk every day and set up his