The Gift That Never Gives
On the burden of gratitude and the hell of mid-level gift-giving demons.
Author’s Note:
This story originated from The Author’s Only Collective prompt: An Unexpected Gift
The constraint being =<300 words
Story:
Chocolates, bouquets, and candlelit dinners with a picturesque view—I sell those all day, but I want none of them.
The calendar taunts me for days leading up to my birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, and milestone events. No one dislikes receiving gifts more than me. I’m sure of it. Every ribbon feels like an emotional debt I never asked to owe.
Sometimes, I get the sense that I’m in a gift-receiving hell of sorts. As in, somewhere in the bureaucracy, down at the burning pits of brimstone, there is a mid-level demon manager who sends a recruit to me, bearing gifts as some rite of passage. “Congratulations, you’re a full-fledged demon now,” they celebrate.
These people have worked with me at the flower shop for over ten years, and I’m sure they mean well. All I can do is force myself to smile, nod with appreciation, and examine whatever it is with faux interest and an overflowing amount of gratitude—energy better served elsewhere.
This time, I’m not going to play my part in their feel-good ritual. I won’t be around when they come bearing gifts. I will be conveniently unavailable. No fake smile, no effusive gratitude, and no figuring out where to put another decorative indoor succulent. Today, I will give myself a day without gifts.
I grab my keys from my bag, flip the sign on the glass window to ‘Closed,’ and reach for the light switch.
Wait, what’s that on the counter? It’s got a bow and a card attached.
Yes, it’s for me, but it’s not true until I confirm it.
Nope, not going to do it.
Turn off the lights. Close the door behind you.
I’m going to hate myself, aren’t I?
Oh, gift-giving demons, why do you torment me?
The Story Behind the Story:
When I first saw the prompt, my immediate reaction was, “I hate gifting.” Not the generosity part—the performance part. Finding the “perfect” gift is subjective, and receiving one is even worse. If you love it, you have to prove it. If you don’t, you have to pretend you do. Either way, it’s emotional labor.
That was the seed: someone who dreads gifts.
From there, I built my usual baseline—someone, somewhere, doing something. A clerk, a gift shop, closing up for the day. Simple. Contained. A pressure cooker.
Then I asked the question that unlocked the story: what if the clerk is the one who hates receiving gifts? And what if it’s their birthday?
With only 300 words to work with, I couldn’t parade a dozen well‑meaning customers through the shop. So instead, I let the gifts appear on their own, as if the universe—or something darker—was taunting them. I call this the Rod Serling effect: take an ordinary moment and tilt it just enough to slip into the uncanny.
Gremlins would’ve been cute. Demons felt more honest. Especially in a small Bible Belt town where dread often comes with a moral explanation. I also implied that the bad place has a bureaucracy or fraternity, so they send a pledge level demon to wreak havoc.
That’s how this story came together: a simple annoyance, a small shop, a birthday no one asked for, and the creeping sense that the world is conspiring to give you exactly what you don’t want.
Thanks for reading.
—Daniel
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Metadata:
Length: 293 words
Tone: MOOD
Content Note: SFW
Series: The Author’s Only Collective