The Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree grew by a bend in the road. It wasn't a Douglas-fir, or even a coniferous tree, it was a gnarled old oak. For years it stood by the side of the road with a red ribbon tied around it in a fancy bow.

Each year the tree grew a little older.

And the tree waited.

Every December the weather got cold and the tree dropped its leaves to blanket the ground. Did the bare tree shake its branches and stand a little straighter? Or was it just the wind? Either way Christmas came and its bow gleamed bright red.

And the tree watched.

And the tree waited.

Cars full of people drove by every Christmas Eve, going to and from their celebrations. Every so often a car flew by the tree too fast, or swerved over the line as it took the corner.

And the tree grew hungry.

And the tree waited.

Did the tree shrug and shift its roots? Or was the driver too drunk to slow down? Either way a car veered off the road. Fifty miles an hour became zero in an instant as metal and glass crunched against bark. The driver was through the windshield before he knew what happened. His soft body broke against the tree, red blood soaking into the red ribbon.

And the tree was sated.

Each year the tree grew a little older.

And the tree waited.

December 2013


Posted on Sun 01 December 2013. Tags: Christmas,