I was given away. My original owner tired of me. I miss them, but I suppose not everything will last. They put me in a garbage bag with other things - old shoes, clothes, a couple of hats, some old books...other things they decided to part with. I sat there in the darkness of the bag, I was crying but they couldn't tell.

It's hard...so very hard...to feel unwanted.

I was taken to a thrift store with the other things they decided to get rid of. I felt them drop the bag there, speaking a few times with the workers at the store. Then I heard the car door close. That was the last time I ever heard their voice.

I was taken in, dumped out of the bag. The things were sorted, including me. I saw others, some were crying, others were badly injured. A few were glad to move on.

They cleaned me and stapled a price tag onto my ear. $1.99...that is my worth. I was worth so much more when they first bought me brand new. I guess that's the price of something used and abandoned.

They took me and some of the others inside the store. They placed me on a shelf, where many others were at. They were much more hopeful than those in the back area - they believed that any day could be their day to be adopted. One by one, I saw people walk by, a few looked at me, but were more interested in someone else. I watched the others picked up and placed into a shopping cart. I watched them as they were taken away to their new lives.

I let out a sigh, thinking about what things would be like, wondering if and when I'd be adopted. I had the same fear as the others with me, that I may be rejected, that I may be thrown away. I was thankful that my previous owners gave me this chance, but it was only a chance, not a guarantee.

Moments passed. I had begun to lose my hope when you came along. You looked at me for just a moment, and that was all it took. You picked me up, petted me, smiled at me. And then you put me into your cart.

___

This is an adaptation of Charles Dickens novel, A Christmas Carol. It will not be completely true to the original, and I intentionally changed things.


“Dead as an old rotten mushroom…”, he spoke, looking down at his deceased partner. “Hmph…you were a good partner, Laghodessa. But you are no use to me dead.”

Walter Scrooge walked away from the body, walking toward the old place where he and Laghodessa worked in the Forest. The grumpy old stag worked with Laghodessa in the business of selling mushrooms to other deer in exchange for pinecones. For seven years, he continued the work alone, his disposition to the other deer terribly awful. They, in return, shunned him. No deer dared walk toward Walter, speak to him, even look him in the eye. One fawn walked by, unaware of who he was. “Merry Christmas, sir!”, he spoke. “Bah! Humbug!”, Walter spat. The fawn stopped, tilting his head. “Christmas? A humbug?”, he asked the old stag. Walter stopped, turning and glaring at the little one. “Why don’t you do the Forest a favor and decrease the census population?”, he spoke, turning and walking off without a reply.

Walter went to the old mushroom dealership where he worked. Silence was there, working away. Walter stopped and looked over to him, “I suppose you want all day off tomorrow?”, he spoke. “It only comes once a year. We’re going to have a Christmas feast.”, Silence replied. “And I suppose you want a full day’s pay, too?”, Walter questioned. “Well…”, Silence began, but Walter shook his head.

“'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Forest, not a creature was stirring, not even a squirrel…”

“Hey, that doesn’t rhyme!”, one of the little fawns, Tyssen, interrupted. Tails shushed the little one, “Let him tell the story. Go on, Dag.”, he said. Dag smiled and nodded, “It’s quite alright. It won’t rhyme because I changed the words so it would make more sense. But I hope you enjoy it.”, he said. The storyteller straightened up and continued the poem.

“The Old Oak was cleared and empty for the night, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would arrive; The fawns were nestled all curled by their mothers, while visions of mushrooms danced in their minds; And I sat alone, listening to the sounds, of the Pond trickling and the wind breezing, when out on in the poppies there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the hycanths to see what was the matter. I watched intently with my eyes open wide, to the sky open from the forest heights. The moon which was wide and bright gave the glow of morning to the Forest below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer…”

“I bet Toukan was one of them.”, another fawn, Temnota, interrupted. The other fawns giggled. “Hush, everyone!”, Tails snapped at them. Dag cleared his throat and continued.

“With a little old human, so strange and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than ravens his reindeer they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; ‘Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet!