Leisha
Leisha Morecombe always thought it odd about the Christmas tree.
Every year for as long as she could remember her parents were fanatical about the way the decorations were placed upon it, instructing the staff to buy new tinsel the moment any small part of the old tinsel deteriorated, making sure the lights twinkled in the correct pattern, determined the angel should sit upright with regimental precision on the tree’s top. Her older brothers, Ben and Oliver, were just as fastidious, barking orders to their little sister about Dress it The Right Way! until it looked exactly like those you might find in a catalogue.
Which was not as Leisha would’ve had it. If she’d had her way the angel would be free to swoop from any old branch, and she would’ve thrown tinsel here and there, allowing it the freedom to hang whatever which way it wanted to, whilst the ornaments mingled together with the liberty to express themselves.
After its decoration had been completed, the tree was largely forgotten. After such a fuss to put it up correctly, Leisha thought they should all dance around it, or sing carols in front of it, or something. Something other than ignore it.
The lights were always switched on before tea each night, usually by the staff, and her father always switched them off before he went to bed. Apart from that, nobody stopped to admire the tree, or touch the tree, or interact with it in any way. Leisha wondered whether, if she got up in the middle of the night and switched everything around to her way of thinking, anyone would actually notice.
This year Leisha was tired of Christmas already. Year 11 had been as boring as every other year of school, even though she’d brought home a row of straight A+s. She understood everything the moment it was explained and spent most of her classes daydreaming. She’d been unanimously elected School leader at the beginning of the year, even though as a Year 11 her name wasn’t even on the ballot sheet. What a pity the teachers had vetoed it.
Well, next year was her final year. They couldn’t veto her election again.
Christmas tree be damned. Time to go out and find some trouble.
Joni Page 