Advent 2020

December 8th

      The one day I decide to climb a tree, it just has to be a fake one.

      Regular walks are supposed to keep you healthy and awake, more alert and ready for whatever life throws at you.

      I always choose the forest paths. They feel so much more fun, though I'm really still just walking, and the air is fresher. Plus, there's a higher chance you'll see animal species that won't attack you.

      I don't trust the jackdaws and pigeons.

      Trees are quite something as well, I find. They lift my spirits in a way I've never quite understood. All they do is stand there and I just look at them and feel better.

      My friends always say I should climb the trees, that my "vibe" is that of someone who would perch in the branches and daydream.

      Maybe they're right, but I've always been too scared of the fall. Especially as I always walk alone.

      But, inevitably, I had to try it one day. Today was that day. Still is, technically.

      I found a stable-looking tree with low, wide branches and I'd tried grabbing onto it and pushing myself up. The only problem was, I didn't go up, and the branch came down.

      At first, I'd panicked that I'd managed to snap the whole thing off - me with my stick arms and zero upper body strength. Except there wasn't a snap, but a click.

      A hole opened up inside the tree trunk and the next thing I knew, I was stood inside the tree.

      You can't just ignore secret holes.

      And then the floor disappeared beneath me. Or rather, it lowered itself very quickly, like a lift on a sugar rush. I won't lie, I did at one point imagine myself landing in a red chair facing the image of Major Monogram.

      Of course, that didn't happen. Sadly. However, it did come to a stop in the centre of a room just as exciting.

      Unfortunately, the ride down gave me a pretty bad headache and I'm still now trying to get to grips with what's going on - the pounding bass of the live band isn't helping.

      Most people here seem to have pointed ears, some have wings, and some of them are so small I'm scared I'll squash them. Though I'm not completely sure I'm not just hallucinating. None of them have noticed my arrival, and I kind of think they should have done - the tree lift is in the dead centre of the room, after all. 

      "Did you pull on the wrong branch, mate?"

      I turn around, vision swimming, trying to place the source of the voice. "Huh?" I manage.

      "You needed to pull the branch on the opposite side," the tall male explains, "If you wanted the human club."

      Nodding, I just back up into the cylindrical lift and give a weak thumbs up before pressing what I believe to be the up button.

      Back out in the open, I close my eyes and take deep breaths.

      Now my vision has at least calmed down, I move around the tree and pull the opposite branch, smiling through the aching pain behind my eyes as another door opens in the tree.

      This time I'm prepared for the drop.

      Not that helps at all.

      At the bottom, I'm in so much pain from my headache I barely register the "Surprise!" as my friends jump out from behind furniture.

      I don't know how to tell them they're the least surprising thing I've seen today.