I was hanging out with our host this evening, going over what truly could be called meta-blogging. As we went through the archives, we figured out I’ve been a member of this wonderful community since 2006. Long time passing, eh?
Many of you fellow oldheads may remember my now-defunct blog, Brendan Calling. Basically, I went through a really awful breakup with my partner of nearly seven years after both of us lost our jobs, and during the aftermath I forgot to pay my renewal fee to Godaddy and some shitbag marketer bought my domain, and that was that.
Thankfully, my admin saved my database. That means that at some point, I can republish. So in that spirit, i delved into my archives and -below the fold- present to you “Piney: the Story of a Christmas Tree”. My ex always hated this story. You may as well. So it goes.
Once upon a time, in a little grove far off in the Big Woods, lived a pine tree. His name was Piney, and he lived among his friends and family, including Coney, Sprucey, Tree-y, Cedary, and Needles.
Life was happy in the Big Woods, if uneventful. Being a tree, Piney had no use for calendars, but if you spoke Tree, he would be happy to tell you how the woods grew lush and green from March through August, at which point many of the trees would change colors and then lose their leaves as the weather grew colder and the nights grew longer, only to grow them back in the Spring. The pine trees wore their evergreen status as a badge of pride and would sometimes tease the maples and oaks as their leaves fell to the ground in an enormous gold and crimson carpet. See you next year! they would say, their boughs rustling with arboreal laughter. Have a nice fall! Trees have many fine qualities, but they are not known for their sophisticated sense of humor.
One winter’s day, Piney heard the familiar tramp tromp tramp of a Person hiking through the woods. He shuddered: Piney did not like the Persons. About a year ago, he had witnessed the bloodthirsty murder of his friend Bucko, a local deer, at the hands of a Person. Right as Bucko was in the middle of sharing some great gossip involving Mr. Squirrel and an angry bluejay, Piney heard an enormous BANG. Blood spattered all over his trunk, and Bucko went down, shrieking in confused agony. Within seconds, a Person raced out of the bush, pointed a strange-looking stick at Bucko’s head, and with another enormous BANG finished the job, and then proceeded to disembowel Piney’s friend right in front of him. It was a horrifying experience.
For that matter, Piney didn’t care for the Children either. They would always yell and scream while walking through the woods, scaring the trees’ animal friends. The Children would carve their names into the bark of the trees, climb up their branches, leaving broken twigs and torn leaves in their wake. The People were simply horrible in Piney’s opinion, and most of the other trees and forest creatures agreed.
Anyway, there was Piney, listening to the footsteps of the approaching Person, and hoping that whoever it was, the Person would just go away and do whatever it is People do in the Village. But the Person stepped right up to Piney, circled him a few times, and said “Yup. This one will be great!”
Great for what? Piney wondered, as the Person set down a large bag that was on his back, and produced a stick with a rectangular shaped piece of metal on one end. I wonder what THAT thing is cal- AAAUUUUGH OH MY GOD OH SWEET JESUS AUUUUUUUGHHHHHH Piney screamed as the Person took aim, and plunged what Piney now knew was an axe into his side. Piney’s sap began to leak down his bark as the axe slammed again and again into his ruptured trunk.
Why? Why are you doing this to me? Piney asked, but the Person could not hear him. AAAAUUUUGHHHH!! IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS! SOMEONE HELP ME, HELP ME! OH SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY STOP IT STOP IT! Piney screamed, but it was no use. The other trees called out to him, telling him to drop pine cones on the Person or to wiggle his branches as hard as he could, but nothing could stop the massive blows of the axe, which sent chips of Piney flying everywhere. Over and over again, the axe hacked away at Piney’s body, until finally he toppled over, helpless and half-insane from the wrenching pain. Then, to his horror, Piney watched as the Person turned to approach the rest of the pines in the stand, a cruel and psychotic grin slashing across its idiot face. Within an hour or so most of Piney’s brothers lay next to him, barely conscious, and catatonic from the brutal attacks. Their screams of agony would echo through his mind until he drew his final breath.
It was at this point that the Person produced a long coil of rope, and wrapped it around each individual tree. Poor Piney: the ropes dug into his branches, stripping off his precious needles and inhibiting his movement in the most unpleasant way. The bottom of his trunk, now exposed to the air, throbbed in excruciating, blinding pain, like a hockey player’s shattered incisors meeting a puck. The Person pulled the ropes tighter and tighter, until Piney felt like a tree in a straitjacket. Then the trees were dragged along the forest floor and dumped unceremoniously into the back of a large pickup truck, which went bumping along the road to the big city. One of the trees, a friendly young blue spruce named Sappy, actually fell out the back, and went rolling down the highway. Piney heard Sappy snap in two as the great tree was sucked under an enormous 18-wheeler.
Once they arrived in the city, Piney and his friends were propped up along a wall, displayed like big game trophies for what seemed like hundreds of Persons walking by. Occasionally, one of the Persons would grope at Piney (or sometimes Sprucey, Cedary, Coney, or one of the other evergreens), before walking on. At other times, after molesting the helpless trees, a Person would hand some green paper to the Person who had so cruelly assaulted and kidnapped Piney and his friends, stuff one of the trees into the back of a car, and drive away. That was how Piney lost his mother. He was very lonely, and began to cry. So did the other trees. Bitter sap tears ran down their trunks as the trees stood there, captive, waiting for Persons unknown to take them away to God-only-knows what.
One day, as Piney stood against the wall a Person took special interest in him. “This one’s just the right size,” said the Person to the Child next to him. “What do you think?”
“It IS the right size!” the child replied. “It’ll fit right in the front room by the fireplace where Santa will see it!” Fireplace? thought Piney, and he shivered. I don’t like the sound of that. But it was too late: the green paper was exchanged, Piney was jammed into the back of a car, and off he went to wherever it was he was going.
About a half-hour later, Piney was dragged from the back of the car and laid across two saw-horses. The Person brought out what Piney, had he been a person, would have recognized as a drill, and began boring a small hole into the bottom of Piney’s trunk. It was the worst thing Piney ever felt, worse than the axe attack. At least with the axe, the pain was everywhere. The drill bit was sheer torture, whining as it bored deep into Piney’s vascular system much like a catheter bores into a human being’s urethra.
Luckily it was over quickly, but not before Piney was positioned over a large tray with a spike in the middle of it: this spike was driven deep into the hole made by the drill, like a dental probe into a cavity, and just slightly less pleasant. Then, four bolts were screwed slowly into Piney’s trunk: really, it was a bit much. the one bit of relief was when the ropes restraining his branches were cut. Piney could finally stretch, and he made a point of sticking one of his needles in the Person’s eye. Take THAT, Piney thought with no small measure of satisfaction.
What did I do to deserve this, Piney wondered as he was moved into the house. Why won’t they just let me die? Indeed, to his horror, it became apparent that the Persons meant to keep Piney alive indefinitely, as they added water to the tray in which Piney stood. It was his first drink of water in days, even if it didn’t taste anywhere near as good as the rain back in the Big Woods.
As Piney slaked his thirst, he watched as the Persons brought several boxes into the room. One wrapped Piney with a cord covered with tiny glowing lights. Another hung glass balls from his branches, including several hung by a clumsy child that snapped off some of Piney’s tenderest twigs. Another indignity. A housecat began to sniff around the base of Piney’s trunk. Get away! Piney warned, as the cat began to try to climb Piney. Stop it! Leave me alone!, Piney grumbled, but the cat ignored him and continued its exploring.
Once Piney had been thoroughly decorated, the Persons shut off the lights and left him alone. The housecat wandered into the room again.
Excuse me said Piney to the cat, But can you tell me where I am and what this is all about?
They do this every year around this time, the cat replied. They’ll keep you well-supplied with water, and sometime in the next few days, they’ll put a pile of boxes underneath you. A few days later, the Children will open those boxes. You’ll hang around for a few weeks, but after that I have no idea what happens.
Sure enough, the cat was right. Piney’s water was refilled every few days, and one evening the Persons piled brightly-wrapped boxes around his trunk. In the morning, the Children opened the boxes, smiling and laughing at the assortment of plastic trinkets that were inside. Other Persons that Piney had never seen passed through the room over the course of the day, many of who commented on what nice tree Piney was. Easy for you to say, Piney muttered to himself. You didn’t have your roots hacked off, or a hole drilled in you trunk, or four screws boring MORE holes in your bark.
After the Day With All the Boxes and Other Persons, life for Piney (such as it was) grew dull(er) to the point of madness. The Persons never bothered to turn on the lights they’d draped him with. The only creature that paid attention to him was the cat, who used Piney as a jungle gym, a scratching post, and a water bowl when the tray was full, which was far less frequent now.
And so it went for about three weeks, when one day the Persons packed away all the glass balls and strings of lights. Once again, Piney was tipped over: this time the spike and the screws were removed. Unfortunately, there was no more water for Piney: instead, the Person who kidnapped him dragged him out of the house upside down to the sidewalk. Piney’s needles were shedding everywhere, but to be honest, he hardly noticed now. He had been alone and in pain for so long, he barely knew himself anymore. He didn’t even have enough sap left in him to weep one final tear as he sat out in the cold leaning on a pile of garbage.
And when the trashmen, with their rough and uncaring hands, picked Piney up and threw his body into the back of their truck, he knew instinctively that it was the end. As the packer blade descended, rolling Piney into the hopper, he saw his companions: dozens, perhaps hundreds, of battered, broken, and dying trees.
Frozen with terror, realizing the end was near, Piney was barely able to choke out the question that had been nagging at him since the day he’d been ripped from his home in the Big Woods. What is happening to us? he asked. Why is this happening to us?
From the back of the hopper, he heard a familiar voice from the pile of garbage and tree carcasses. Piney? Piney is that you? It was Sprucey.
Yes, yes, it’s me, Piney! shouted the tree. Sprucey, do you know why this is happening?
Killing trees is how the Persons celebrate life, Sprucey yelled back. It dates back to their roots, if you will pardon the pun. These impatient and superstitious creatures were once so stupid that they not only believed that the sun revolved around the world, but that the sun might never return again! So when the days began to grow longer, they celebrated the return of the sun by decorating us evergreen trees that never lose our leaves. And even though their tiny minds have advanced a ladybug step or two, they still cling to their old primitive practices. That is why they still murder us, and bring us into their homes to die alone, terrified, separated from our families.
Piney was stunned. He could not believe the selfishness and the casual cruelty of the Persons.
Piney, cried Sprucey, his voice quavering weakly. Piney, they aren’t even going to use us as firewood like their ancestors did. We’re on the way to a landfill, the place where the Persons throw all their unwanted things.
It was too much for Piney to take. The torture, the kidnapping, the captivity… it had all been for nothing more than an empty ritual. And now he was headed for a dumping ground, never to see his beloved Big Woods again. He thought of his friends: the other trees, the squirrels and birds, the deer. He thought one last time of the way the wind sang through his branches, and of the delicious taste of a spring rain. He thought about the crisp snow and the icicles that would hang from his branches, and with a ear-shattering CRACK, his big wooden heart finally broke, unable to bear the vast meaningless absurdity of it all.
By the time the garbage men threw Piney into the compacter, by the time his trunk splintered into too many pieces to ever put back together, by the time they dumped what was left of him into a landfill, he was already dead.