Short Stories

A Christmas Story

WARNING

Probably the most disturbing christmas stort you'll ever read.

Violence? Death?

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Prompt

Personification means giving human traits, such as feelings and thoughts, to objects. Personify your Christmas tree. Write a story from the Christmas tree’s point of view.

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There is a stinging pain in my lower body as a man in a ski mask repeatedly swings an axe at me. Why is he doing this to me? Out of all the trees in this forest, why am I the one to die?

The axe digs into my body, deeper and deeper until it cuts me in half. With a big crack, I tip over and fall to the ground. He cut me from my roots, so this is the end for me. I can only live so long without the nourishment I get from the soil. 

I feel dehydrated already. The man and a few others in ski masks pick me up and carry me to a silver truck. They tie me to the top of the car, ropes digging into the cracks of my trunk. As they drive down the icy roads, the ropes push into me. With every push, my wooded skin cracks off little by little.

They make a stop at a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. In a joint effort, the men pull me off the car and force me through the small, front door of the cottage. The edges of the door rip off some of my leaves, leaving me exposed in some parts.

Inside the house, I hear a dog bark and children laughing as they swarm around me and the men.

“Get back everyone, we need to find a place to put the Christmas tree.”

Christmas tree? What is a Christmas tree? I am a pine tree, they must have the wrong tree.

After carrying me around the house, they place me next to the warm fireplace. The children run up to me and start tugging at my leaves, and I feel a sharp pain with each tug.

“Alright kids, go get your mother she will help you decorate the tree.”

“Yay!” The children shout as loud as they can and run out of the room.

I feel my leaves getting hot as the fire warms the house. Why is this happening to me? I just wanted to grow old in the woods, planted to the ground in peace. But here I am, slowly losing water as the fire heats me up.

The children and mother come into the room with a big purple box. They pull out colorful balls and bells that chime with each jingle. The man who attacked me pulls out a circular disk and puts it in a black contraption.

Suddenly, music begins to play, and the kids start to dance with the bells in hand.

"That’s the jingle bell rock~"

I admit that it’s a catchy song, but it only distracts me for a moment. Then, the kids and mother hang the bells and balls on my leaves, pulling my leaves down like a weight.

This happens for a while, until there is only one thing in the box left. The mother pulls out a glittering star.

“Mom, I want to put the star on!”

“I got you kiddo,” The man who brought me here picks up the kid with the star in hand and brings her close to me. She takes the star and slams it into my skull.

“The Christmas tree is done,” the mother claps in delight. The family together stares at me in awe, as I slowly begin to lose consciousness.

“It’s so pretty!” the little girl cheers.

The last thing I see is the girls smiling face as I close my eyes, and the last thing I hear is the dog barking as I take my last breath.