The Girl Of Christmas

        My name is Chris Mace Tree. One chilly day, as I sat on my hill with my frosty boughs swaying in the wind, a young girl approached. She grinned, then croaked, “You!” before grinning even wider. Without hesitation, she grabbed a greasy piece of cardboard from a soggy pizza box and plopped it onto my head, securing it with a long piece of yarn. I was appalled. Then, to my horror, she began decorating me with old food wrappers! I had always dreamed of being a Christmas tree, but this was not what I imagined. Instead of gifts beneath my branches, the girl curled up under me and fell asleep! I was stunned.

        That night, as I dozed, I dreamed Santa visited and urged me to care for the girl, for no one else could. When I woke, I was troubled but determined. I twisted myself around and, with a SNAP-CRACK!, leaped from my stump. I hopped to the old church, found a teddy and a worn quilt in the donation box, and hurried back to create a small bed for her in the snow.

        Throughout the winter, I watched over her, and she always shared her moldy pizza with me—bleaurgh. One day, she became very ill. Panic gripped me; I didn’t know what to do. That night, I wished upon the stars for someone to help her. By morning, she was gone. Later that week, I caught sight of her in a warm, cozy building. She smiled and waved, and at that moment, I knew I would never forget her.