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Every year that the Christmas Market came to the city was a vibrant spectacle. Fairy lights strung along the street, connecting the stalls to one another, with a bright array of colours wrapped around tinsel. Christmas garlands, wreaths and ruby red bows were pinned atop the stalls, each one decorated like little gingerbread houses standing in a row. The rhythm of foot traffic on the street met with cheers and pleasant conversation as people flocked to the spectacle, creating a festive symphony. Everyone seemed merry and bright.
All, it seemed, except one.
One stall owner was still unpacking their wares, handmade blown glass ornaments in every size and colour, with beautiful intricate designs. They arranged their glass baubles in a meticulous order, hanging them from snow-white branches arranged on their stall. Along the front, presented on red velvet were smaller crafts; wine glass charms, paper weights and mini trees.
They unpacked their wares until one box remained. A tiny white box holding a bauble that no customer seemed to enjoy. But year after year they continue to bring it with them to market, in the hope it would sell. The glass maker couldn’t understand why the design was unpopular. It was fire truck red in colour with hand painted snowflakes in golden glitter. There were many customers who’d enquired about the bauble over the years but none seemed willing to purchase, but the glass maker never got their reasoning and never deemed it suitable to press them. They held hope that this year would be different.
‘Perhaps this year will be your year,’ they said kindly to the decoration.
Instead of placing the bauble on the snow-white branches like the rest, the glass maker arranged it in the centre of the stall atop an emerald present box, hoping it would catch someone’s attention.
The Christmas Market was in the city for a full month, November through to December, open all day, everyday leading up to Christmas. Every day the glass maker would receive many visitors to their stalls but not one stopped to glance at the snowflake bauble.
As the days turned to weeks, the final week of the Christmas Market loomed. The glass maker’s stock had dwindled in numbers, many customers purchasing several items for gifts and admiring all the wares. All except one, the same snowflake bauble that’d been ignored for years.
On the final day, the glass maker began to feel helpless about their creation, wondering if they should cut their losses and keep it for themselves instead.
‘Perhaps you would prefer to come home with me,’ they said.
But in the last hour of festive cheer, the glass maker watched and two separate individuals reached for the snowflake bauble. They looked to one another, arguing between them about who should take the ornament, but the man insisted the woman should purchase it. She politely thanked him and the glass maker was happy to sell, wrapping the bauble in the emerald gift box it’d been displayed on.
As a gift to them both, the glass maker suggested the open bar opposite their stall, where the pair could enjoy hot cocoa together. The woman thanked them, before turning to the man and offering to buy them one. He accepted and together they walked off into the night.
The glass maker stood proudly behind their stalls, all their wares gone, including the little bauble they thought would never sell.
A smile on their lips as they said, ‘Seems you were waiting for the perfect pair, you clever thing. I wonder what delight you might bring them this year.’153Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXOxWQHyJu3
