My name's axel
their last christmas
The house didn’t know there was a schedule. Monday: Packing. Wednesday: Leaving. Friday: Knocking The Whole Thing Down. The house just carried on, the same as always; empty or full, noisy or silent, it wasn’t really up to the house to say what was best. Sanguine, houses are, even in the face of execution.
The tree, on the other hand, felt the heavy heel of a boot crush its shiny purple tinsel as it lay on the floor, and knew what was what.
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