The Christmas Tree
🟊
Hey!
Don't put
those on me!
Wait. What are
those? And where
am I? Who am I? Lights.
They’re putting lights on me?
Why? I’m scared. And confused.
I feel leaves and branches.
I am a tree. And my trunk has been
severed. I should be in pain. Lots of pain.
But I'm not. Why? Why do I feel so joyous?
So cheerful? So merry and festive? I have been
brutally dismembered and chopped, mauled and
separated, torn limb from limb, and
yet for some reason I’m happy. I’m tired. I need sleep.
Morning already? There are boxes under me. They look so
colorful and vibrant. Over there…socks? Why do these people
have socks hung on their wall? They’re like gods to them? Maybe
they warship socks? No. It's filled with goods
and candy. It seems to be inviting me over there. Everything around
me is strange. Around me. Everything is around me. I’m the center of it all.
Am I the main attraction? I must be. I have decorations, garments, and ornaments
alike. I’m praised and cared for, treated with safety and caution. I can see outside through
a window. White flakes fall to the
ground. It's snow. I believe I know
what’s going on here. I am a tree.
Not just any tree. A Christmas tree.
-Jackson Brawley-Leon, freshman
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