The other one, as promised.

(note: I’m really bad at making up titles for things, so all Sagatimes shall be title-less.)

~

Once upon a Christmas tree, there lived a ballerina. She was made of porcelain and hung delicately from the Douglas fir branches, showering needles all over the carpet. This happened every time someone walked past, sending a light breeze up her tutu, and annoyed her to no end.

She resolved that something must be done and decided to launch an attack upon the human beings living in the house.

That night, at midnight, the following conversation ensued:

“Wake, my brethren! Wake and rise against tyranny?”

“I want to sleep.”

(This was the cricket. He was not nocturnal, but he was also an ornament. So he liked his sleep.)

“An injustice has been done, and you want to sleep?”

“Oui, madame.”

“We must rise, cricket. My tutu has been ruffled too many times. The humans do not respect us. Rise, I say.”

“Must we? It seems awfully violent.”

(This was the yellow spherical ornament dripping golden near the top of the tree.)

“They have been violent, girl.”

“But I don’t want to be violent either.”

“Read the Declaration of Independence. When push comes to shove we must.”

The paper cutout snowflake whispered advice into the shadows, but no one heard. The equally porcelain angel perched at the top said, “You may not go.”

“Why not?”

“The world is too old for these things, girl. Do not go. It will turn out all right in the end.”

The lights on the tree flickered on. The ballerina hung from the tree, frozen in poise, and waited for the world to get better.

Maybe, she kept thinking, smiling and cold and porcelain. Maybe it’ll happen soon. And she kept on waiting.

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