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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2130012
Rated: ASR · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #2130012
Welcome friends. This is my very first story. I plan to specialize in avant garde prose.
Compassion from an Unexpected Source
By Ballin’ Bransby


The pine needle farmer rose up at dusk to reap. It was a clandestine duty of his, for no one wanted him to pluck needles from their pine trees. He stretched and looked around his room. It was so familiar, yet each time he woke up to it there was a mystical and almost alien feel to it. This was because it was so quaint and modest (not befitting his royal ego and aspirations of grandeur), yet adorned with expensive decorations and designs (all inherited from his rich ancestors), an extravagant image juxtaposed over a peasant’s abode. Determined to continue his task, he put on his dark cowl and stepped outside. He crept into a Christmas tree sale. He pulled out his burlap sack and began gathering needles into it. His bag was almost full, when suddenly…
Groundskeeper: YOU THERE! STOP!!
The pine needle farmer’s heart skipped a beat, and he snaked away into the trees. However, he tripped over a rock, and was unable to escape before the groundskeeper was upon him.
Groundskeeper: I’m sick and tired of seeing you! If this keeps up you’ll ruin Christmas!
The PNF didn’t take these words to heart. He remained steadfast (he knew he was ultimately the most righteous) and threw a snowball into the groundskeeper’s eyes.
Groundskeeper: Gahh!! You meddling imbecile!
The PNF crawled away and hid inside a snowdrift. He thought the groundskeeper would eventually give up and he could continue his harvest. This sense of security was short lived, however. He heard the howls of the search dogs. He knew he needed to make a speedy escape. He stood up and frantically clamored around. He found a rope and a large pair of clippers. Being as resourceful as he was, he took the rope and used it to bend a thinner tree over, tying it to a large rock. He could hear the dogs panting at this point and for the first time considered his own defeat. The groundskeeper and his dogs stormed into view.
Groundskeeper: Time to teach you a lesson!
The PNF took the clippers and cut the rope. The tree sprung back into place, launching him back towards his dwelling. He landed in a heap of snow unharmed. He looked into his bag. Some needles had fallen out, understandably, but he could make do with what he had. He would make something work; he was determined to live up to the charity and generosity of his ancestors.
Overnight he worked tirelessly. The next morning, only a fraction of his project was done, but with his rate of progress he could finish in about a week. As the days passed, he would peek outside and see the groundskeeper with his small daughter. The groundskeeper was a cold man and never gave his daughter the love she deserved. Even on Christmas, she received nothing and her father kept hoarding all the food and making her do excessive chores. The PNF knew that he needed to show her the compassion she was always deprived of, even if it meant appearing like a thief first.
Finally, three days after Christmas, he was finished. He had made one of his trademark, masterfully woven pine needle dolls. He stepped outside, this time not taking his cowl, for he needed no disguise. Arriving at the groundskeeper’s house, he knocked on the door. The grumpy, unshaven groundskeeper Horace opened the door. He didn’t even ask who the PNF was before trying to slam the door in his face. The PNF stopped the door with his foot.
PNF: You know how you’re tired of the needles on your trees being stolen? Well I’m tired of how you treat Bailette!
Groundskeeper: What?! Are you calling me a bad father?!
PNF: Yes!
He kicked his way into the door and walked to Bailette’s room. She appeared frightful at first, a habit of her’s developed from growing up with her father’s tyranny. However, her face lit up when the PNF presented her the doll. One can assume how heartwarming this scene was. What is more important is the lesson that the PNF taught everybody: that sometimes charitable, righteous people can be hiding under the guise of a degenerate.
© Copyright 2017 Ballin' Bransby (ballinbransby at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2130012