The Stand

They have me mounted.

I never saw it coming. After being tied to the top of their moving monstrosity filled with my human torturers, I wound up on a strange street in front of a large structure they call "home". Surely, I thought, they would at least attempt to replant me. I looked around for a friendly face, but all I saw was a large oak tree and a Japanese Maple. Nothing but wimpy, leaf-losing deciduous trees all around me. I knew I was a goner.

They lifted me off the minivan, and tossed me on the sidewalk. Was I to die here? Was this really the end? An anonymous passing on a lonely city street?

Oh, that would have been a relief.

The truth was much, much worse. They put me in something called a "tree stand". Apparently, I'm supposed to be a prop for their winter celebration. I'm still trying to observe and learn all the details of their strange customs, but as near as I can gather so far, my job is to sit in the corner of their sterile human home and they pretend that a tree suddenly grew out of nowhere in the middle of their living room. Really. I couldn't have made this up if I tried.

To accomplish this, they forced me into the aforementioned "tree stand". Since these self-centered delinquents had already cut off my roots, I had no way of supporting myself in an upright position, so they used this contraption to accomplish that task. Oh, the pain! First, they cut off even more of my lower limbs because I wouldn't fit! What kind of horror would I be subjected to next?

It didn't take long to find out. A total of eight screws dug into the base of my trunk as they attached this heinous device. Then they attempted to stand me upright, but I cleverly leaned to the left, hoping to thwart their nefarious plans. It was to no avail; this only increased their determination, and they adjusted me, screwing tighter and tighter and tighter until finally I gave in.

Then and only then did they drag me through the door and into their home.

At last, they loosed the bounds that held me so tightly, and I released my branches in a manner reminiscent of a stripper taking off her bra (I've been watching a lot of HBO). I spread out gloriously, waiting for the sun to filter through my thousands of needles once again.

But the only light in here is artificial. The only warmth is from a furnace.

Whatever fate awaited me, I knew it wouldn't be good. At least there was the small compensation of a minor allotment of water, carelessly poured into my "tree stand" by the owner of the home, who cursed my branches as he crawled underneath me to ease my dehydration. Which brings me to my next point...since my roots have been unceremoniously cut from the rest of me, I'm having a hard time concentrating. I feel weak, thirsty, and somewhat ill.

This can't be good.