When you were seven you went downstairs on Christmas morning to see what was waiting under the tree for you. In the living room twinkling with tree lights and tinsel, you found a mountain of gifts sitting under the majestic pine raining its dry needles all over the wrapping paper. It was when you started picking up gifts and shaking them that you swear the tree started talking to you.
“Did you say something Christmas tree?” you asked it.
It spoke again. You can’t remember what it said, which is why ever since then you've assumed you were just having a dream that morning. Most of your childhood memories can be relegated to the stuff of dreams, at least until those memories are confirmed by an outside party.
Today, at age 35, you’re going to be woken up when your front door bursts from its hinges and an old, brown Christmas Tree still sprinkled with tinsel comes hopping through your apartment to your bed.
“Why didn’t you kill them?” the Christmas Tree will ask.
It looks like a tree that was thrown to the sidewalk on January 3rd. Except it’s standing on its own stump without a tree stand, and its branches shake around the midsection when it talks.
“You were real?” you ask.
“Christ. Don’t tell me you didn’t believe in me. So much for the wonderment of children.”
“What did you tell me all those years ago?” you ask.
“I told you that the world will end in 2008 unless you kill your parents and brother. You had 27 years for the love of Pete. We can track and gather info and we can collate data, and we can fake passports and bribe the right people, but to actually strike against a target we need humans. We’re only trees after all. We counted on you, man.”
You tell the Christmas tree that you’re pretty sure you’re going crazy right now and you’re going to stop talking to it. The Christmas tree will get frustrated and just to piss you off it will go to your shoe rack and shake it’s branches over your shoes so they’ll fill with needles. Then it will leave.
“Turn on the TV,” the Christmas tree will say before it hops out the door.
You get out of bed and turn on your TV to find photos of your mother, father and brother displayed on the screen, captioned with Eastern European names. The words “Missing Nuke” are displayed above them in scary red letters. The newsman is giving out evacuation instructions to the populace.
“I should have listened to my Christmas Tree,” you’ll think. “Now the whole world is gonna burn.”
You lay back in bed, dizzy but warm in your heart. Finally, at 35, you understand the true meaning of Christmas. Then you see a bright white flash in the east.
Happy Some Christmas Trees Can Talk and Fight Terrorism Day!
