Ash has Writer's Block, Therefore, this will be Called "Untitled: The True Story of Christmas"
I am so tired of walking, I can feel the miles add on, ceaselessly, to the marrow of my bones, right to my aching hooves and drooping ears. If Mary does not get off me, I will collapse. I will simply fall down in the dust, or so my over-tired mind says. Joseph—
that's what Mary called him, and he addressed her as Mary—
said we would stop soon for Mary to birth the babe she carried.
That was two fortnights ago, and she is still heavy with the child she carries, and Joseph is still muttering to himself at the low amount of gold in his purse, and I am still bearing Mary wherever she appears to be going, which looks like everywhere in this earth.
Oh, my. We've reached a town, with an inn and a stable and hopefully, lots of good, sweet, crunchy, yummy hay. I had better stop thinking about hay, or I'll start drooling and Mary will give me funny looks. Joseph has left to see to rooms at the inn. It looks very crowded, or else they're having a party I wasn't invited to. No one invites me anywhere. The stable looks like it has hay, lots of hay.
Joseph is back, and annoyed. Evidently it wasn't a party, they were patrons of the inn. He's arranged for us to sleep in the stable. Kind man, Joseph, but I'm afraid Mary's not terribly happy. She's stamping her foot, and she's still on me. So I'm going to pretend like I don't realize she's kicking me, and run away as fast as I can, a braying donkey.
Oh, that did not work out good. Mary started screaming, that was rewarding, but Joseph chased after me with a stick. Stupid old mean man. Stupid old briar stuck. Stupid old Mary.
Alright, we're in the stable. It is everything I thought it would be; luscious hay and sparkling clear cold water, with moist but not mildewed, crunchy and not stale grain. Of course, to a hungry donkey who has been without these things too long, the hay could be dusty, the water filthy, the grain perused by rats and I wouldn't care. Mary has taken all the best hay for herself and Joseph, to make a bed. Hmm, I'll see how long their 'bed' lasts when I'm feeling hungry. I'm going to go to sleep now, and pray Mary and Joseph do not decide to skip out on the bill until I have had a good, nice, week's worth of rest.
Oh dear me, Mary has perversely, contrarily, and totally true to form decided to go into labor. I hope she doesn't die, Joseph would weep…and that would be scary, actually.
She's finished her labors, and Joseph is looking down at the baby with this expression on his face. It's so…reverent. I get chills up my spine, but no one notices me until I make my way behind Joseph, nuzzling his shoulder and pointing my head at Mary, who has lain back panting with joy and exhaustion. Joseph brings the babe to her, wrapping it in his cloak, and presents his son to Mary.
Mary smiles and says the strangest thing: "I'll name him Jesus…oh, and darling here's the wise men with gifts of gold, myrrh, and frankincense."
Odd name for a child, Jesus, but three men enter the tent, indeed bearing gifts, and I retreat back to my special spot in the corner with the other donkeys, to discuss what just happened.
A star shines over us, the small hole at the top of the stable letting the shining orb throw its light onto the face of the baby Jesus.
Suddenly, in that small moment, I feel a ray of divine knowledge and wisdom surge through my body, hope for all of us and despair at the deaths that someday await us.