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Writer's pictureThe Messy Mrs

End of Year Writing Challenge: Comedy Retreet

Challenge: Prompt 3 (2024)


Prompt:

At the edge of town there is a tree that is hundreds of years old. Legend has it that on Halloween, the tree comes to life. What story does the tree tell you this year? Why does it tell you that story?


DISCLAIMER:

There have been questions in regards to using AI for these. I use spelling and grammar checkers, however the ideas and writing are all my own. I do not use AI to create the prompts or stories.




I live in a small town. Near the welcome sign, there is a tree. It is an ancient and gnarled oak tree with long drooping branches and dense green leaves. It has a long history of watching the town grow and change and coming alive on Halloween, right before the leaves turn to shades of orange and the tree sheds them. Many people in town listen to the tree rather than have parties or trick-or-treat.


It’s my favorite thing to do on Halloween. I’ve gone every year since I can remember, but this year was different. You see, the tree is running out of stories to tell.


This year, there was already a crowd when I got to the tree. I picked a spot near the front center to place my blanket and I sat down, ready for whatever wisdom the tree was going to bestow. Every year, the tree told an interesting historical story from the town. There was always some moral to be gained from it. Usually something about how it's better to support each other than tear each other down.


No matter how old I got, it was a magical moment when the sun began to fade and the tree shuddered to life. 


Today was no different. It started like a heavy breeze, bending and moving the tree branches, rustling the green leaves of the mighty oak. The tree creaked at first, which turned to moaning as its eyes opened and it stretched its limbs. It shuddered alive, shaking off a year of silently watching us. A year of marriages and funerals and children playing and people coming and going under its massive branches.


It yawned and groaned then settled in comfortably. It only had until darkness set in to get us its message.


“My, my, there are a lot of you here this year,” the tree began. “This crowd gets bigger every year.”


There was some clapping and a few cheers from the drinkers in the back. There were always a group of them, but they were seldom disruptive. Everyone loved this Halloween tradition and no one wanted to ruin it.


“Yeah,” the tree continued. “I guess you get bored in a small town. Nothing better to do.”


There were confused murmurs throughout the crowd. This was not the tree’s normal brand of story-telling. If you could call it that.


“Is this thing on?” the tree said with a laugh. “I mean, I know I can’t do the deed like you, but I’ve nutted all over this town.”


One of the drunks burst into laughter. I had to admit it was pretty funny too.


“Thank you,” the tree told the laughing person. “Someone gets it.”


The tree looked uncomfortably around the crowd. We were all a bit uncomfortable too. The tree was not known to make jokes.


“When I got my first acorn, I asked my father what it was. My father was an interesting tree. Much wiser than I. He looked at me and he said, ‘Well, in a nutshell, it's an oak tree.’”


I can’t say if it was nervousness or that I actually found the joke funny, either way. I burst out in a laugh. No one else did.


“This one gets it,” the tree gestured to me with one of his branches. “It’s funny because acorns are nuts with the power to grow a great oak like myself. Get it?”


There was no response.


“I guess if I have to explain it, then it’s not very funny.” The tree laughed nervously. “Last pollination season, there was this Betula that I was interested in. I was flirting up a storm, but apparently Betula wasn’t having it. She was like, ‘Leaf me alone, you son-of-a birch.’ And I said, ‘Birch, please! I’m an oak.’”


I was not the only one laughing this time. The tree smiled and chuckled a bit too.


“I see the sheriff’s here tonight.” 


The tree gestured to where a man sat with his family on a blanket snacking on popcorn and candy in their costumes. The sheriff gave a wave and the crown clapped.


“If anything goes missing, it was me. I have sticky fingers.” 


The tree wiggled some of his branches and the leaves rustled like applause. Some of the kids laughed louder than the adults at that one.


“Last month was my least favorite. But who can blame me? No tree likes Sept-TIMBER!!! The fall out afterward is never good.”


The audience laughed.


“Last year, some moron got hurt raking my leaves.”


There was some confused chuckling. I waited eagerly to hear the next line.


“Yeah. I told him, ‘Next time wait for the leaves to hit the ground then you fall out of me!’” 


Laughter erupted. A few people clapped. This comedy show was a pleasant surprise.


“Yeah, the accident was a bit on me,” the tree continued when the laughter died down. “Before he fell, I told him to be careful. You won’t believe what this guy said to me. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes, ‘Ah! A talking tree!’ Now, somehow it's my fault he fell. Something about a talking tree scaring him. I don’t see how that’s my problem.”


I laughed so hard that tears came to my eyes. 


One kid asked, loudly, “Why’s that funny?”


“Because, kid, trees don’t normally talk,” the tree said.


“Tell a story,” someone shouted. “You’re not funny.”


“You know what’s funny? Your mom,” the tree said. “Yeah, she’s nut my type, but she likes my wood. She wants to take me home. When she said that I was like, ‘Over my dead body!’ She said, ‘Good, I need a new desk!’”


There was less laughter that time. I have to admit that I chuckled though.


“I guess that was a bit dark.” The tree was gaining confidence in this new approach. “I know this is different than my usual material, but I’m out of stories and my partner broke up with me.”


“Aw,” the crowd said.


We could all feel the genuine pain the tree had. It was probably a set up, but the tree also seemed sad. It made sense that the tree was trying something different after hundreds of years of storytelling. And I had to admit, I kind of liked the change.


“Yeah. I miss that evergreen. What I don’t miss is her morals. She was all about saving the environment and cruelty-free this or that. I met her when she was all decorated for Christmas. Talk about a faux-fir.”


There were more chuckles.


“She wasn’t a fan of my jokes either. I tried to make one when she broke up with me and all she said was, ‘Knock that off, fir cryin’ out loud’,” the tree said. “She broke up with me because I asked if she was planning to dress up for Christmas. She thought I was trying to spruce her up. I was trying to see if she was knotty or nice. Now I’m pining for her.”


The crowd appeared to be losing interest. But I was excited to hear what the tree had to say next. 


“Anyway, since you wanted a story: Years ago, I heard a little girl asking her great-grandpa how he had lived such a long life. He said the key was to season her food with just a pinch of gunpowder. Years later, she got married under my branches. That Halloween, she was pregnant. Every subsequent year, her family grew until she had six kids. Then her kids grew up. They brought their spouses and their children to hear my stories and their children’s children, the whole family visiting me every Halloween.”


The tree's leaves began to change color. It was near the end of its time for speaking. I couldn’t help feeling a bit sad for the tree.


“I watched the little girl turn into an old woman. And when she finally passed away at the ripe old age of 111, she left behind six children, fourteen grandchildren, thirty-three great-grandchildren, almost a hundred great-great grandchildren and a 40-foot crater where the crematorium used to stand.”


The laughter roared as more of the tree's leaves turned a rich red-orange color. The tree smiled sadly, knowing his time was coming. The tree only had until dark and it was getting close.


“I guess you could say she went out with a bang.”


The crowd roared as the tree returned to its stoic state, watching over the town for another year.


“I’ll be back next Halloween!” were the tree’s last words for this year.


The audience cheered and clapped a little bit extra for the tree this year. I even threw in some extra cheering. After a bad year, I thought the tree had earned some extra joyous cheering for giving us all something a bit more fun this year.

I picked up my blanket and walked back to my house. I found myself looking forward to next Halloween already. 


I wondered if there was a moral to the trees jokes as I settled into my bed.


Maybe, I thought, the tree wants us to know we're never too old to change.


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