The heroically, accidental Christmas bonfire

The heroically, accidental Christmas bonfire - Emma Hall (Acellus Online Academy, 8th Grade)

Dear Santa,

Before I explain, how much do you know already?

Never mind. My story is the only truthful side anyways.

Now where to begin? Hello, my name is Lilith Tremblay and I live in Calgary, Canada. My mom is a nurse, my father is an architect. I am thirteen years old. My favorite color is red.  And I almost burned down my family’s house. 

I know what you are thinking. Wow, this chick is crazy?! And you would be totally and completely wrong. I only act narcotic on all the days that end with y. For the record, yes, I do have friends despite this.They just don’t like me much. 

I am not saint, Mr. Claus. Never claimed to be, never will be. Partly because I’m an atheist. I believe in God, though. I’m just not allowed to go to church. The priests think I’m the devil incarnate, a bit harsh, but fair. I did sing a solo about donkeys (I used another word) and polygamy in the church at the little Catholics talent show. 2 things that the church did not want to hear. But, hey, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?!

 Or you just actually die. However you interpret it.  My favorite flowers are daisies in case you are wondering, for when my parents find me after the police tell them what I did.

So why should I deserve to not be on the naughty list this year? Well, for starters I should probably just tell you my side of the story. The honest one. I figured that you would be able to tell if I was lying through my teeth anyways. I realize that you may be getting albeit impatient, I don’t blame you. I am not the best focused person there is. Another fault of mine. Among several dozen.

It all starts with a boy. As most drama does for middle schoolers. Graham Beau is his name and he is the love of my life!

 Well…one of them. I have five right now: Graham, Camryn, Bruce, Kai, and the random guy in a jersey from aisle six at the grocery store. Random guy had a nice smile, he was grinning the entire time he was looking at the girl’s sock section. He probably has a foot fetish, but it's true love. He glanced at me out of his peripherals four times.

Okay, I can feel your Santa lie detector going off. It was three times.

Fine, twice.

Geez!!! Judgmental, much?! It was once, okay?!

Anyhow, I had invited a bunch of friends over to have hot cocoa and help me decorate for Christmas. ‘Cause I’m just selfless like that, thank you very much. 

Everything was going perfectly. Graham and I were flirting. My friends had helped me put up the tree. We lit pine-needle scented candles and strung up lights, and even made chocolate cookies! I had never worked an oven and thought I did a good job. By noon the front yard looked like Christmas puke and the inside was a personal shrine to Santa Claus, er…you. And incredibly enough I only tried to dance to ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ on the table once. Twice. Ugh, this whole truthful thing is bothersome.

But then Graham ruined it. He told me he asked Celine out. Celine. She’s the most unknown despite the glaring fact that everyone at school knows her  and the ugliest person in the entirety of the world.  And I don’t mean to sound unfeministic here, but her wavy golden hair and symmetrical features and athletic body and blue, shining eyes and dimples are repulsive—-the point is she’s hideous. Inside and out. Ignoring the fact that she’s a humanitarian. Who cares if she’s helped cure cancer? My uncle had cancer! Which is irrelevant, but totally true. Or was it bronchitis? It could have been a lung infection? Is my uncle even still alive? Crap. 

Whatever, what I am trying to say is that he asked Celine out. When he could have had me. What an idiot? Right?! Right? Right.

The next few hours fled by tortuously. Time cruelly dug its nails into me, all the while I faked a smile and my eyes turned green and my vision red. We finished decorating. They all went home. And I screamed bloody murder into a pillow. Alongside a good collection of profanities that would make Nicki Minaj proud.

The following sequence of events was a blur. I must have been possessed by a ghost of Christmas rejection because once my logical thinking—or as logical I can get—resurfaced the room was torn by a disaster. It was as if a hurricane had torn through it. 

Oops.

There were nail marks on pillows (I wasn’t strong enough to actually tear it apart, pillow cases are a lot tougher then you might expect), ornaments were shattered, nutcrackers scattered across the room. Cookies flung in every direction. And the worst part is: I chipped a nail. 

Double oops.

Anger surged in me. But I tampered it down. The words of my court-mandated therapist come to mind at that moment. I inhaled and exhaled and decided to be mature. And, yes, that included eating an entire carton of chocolate ice cream. And three candy canes. 

But after that I cleaned it all up and went upstairs to do more productive things. Like cry in the shower and punch walls for example. Because I was so dutifully preoccupied I forgot to a) put out the candles, b) didn’t turn off the oven, and c)I forgot to fix the candle I accidentally knocked over while I was nobly stomping around downstairs like a broody knight on an honorable mission. Not a hormonal toddler (take that mom!). To say the least the combination may have caused a tinsy, little, minuscule, kinda major fire.

Triple oops.

Before I tell you what happens next, I feel the need to emphasize a couple key details before you start placing blame. Firstly, if my parents hadn’t bought candles or supplies for cookies for that matter I wouldn’t be in this mess. Second of all, my parents should have never, ever trusted me to be home alone. I mean, how many times do I have to get in trouble for assaulting people (not this year, so it doesn’t count) have to occur for them to get the clue? Thirdly and finally, its all His fault. If Graham had not asked out stupid Celine with her straight A’s and Christian family, none of this would have happened.  

Of course, I, being such a mature and kind person, can accept my share of the blamage (is that a word) for the incident. Within reason. And by that I mean however much will get me on the nice list. I could really use a pick me up present after what happened with Graham. (:

Between the candles on the carpet and the oven, smoke was thick in the air. It took me an embarrassing look time to realize this, like fifteen minutes  not very long at all to realize this. The smoke detectors started beeping frantically, in sync with my frenzied pulse as I bolted downstairs. Panic clouded my mind, but not as much as the grey smoke enveloping the downstairs. I raced to the closet and heroically with trembling hands unhooked the fire extinguisher and used it to dashingly quench the blaze on the oven, all the while screaming like a mad woman. 

Just then the fire sprinklers decided to pitch in. Annoying late when it mattered most. Together we vanguised the threat and courageously vomited into the bushes in the front yard. Sorry, Christmas lights.

My neighbors and their nosy habits must have peeked through the windows and seen the abnormal amount of smoke pouring out of the house and decided to call 911. The jerks! How dare they be concerned that the house was on fire! And that I was still wheezing ten minutes after from smoke inhalation! Some people only think of themselves.

At any rate with such heinous acts, my fate was sealed. The firemen showed up and blocked off the house and now here I benevolent lie in a hospital bed. I even got a ride in the ambulance. I had thought it would be cooler, but I was sadly proven wrong. The mattress sucked. And wearing an oxygen mask was the worst. 

So. Now I sit here. My fate is to be decided and my parents are on their way over. Imprisonment and servitude is almost certain to occur the rest of winter break. I plead with you to understand my perspective. I was a victim in all of this, some might even say a hero. I do not deserve the naughty list. 

Merry Christmas and please get me a new phone,

Lilith Tremblay

P.S. More ice cream would be nice, too.

P.P.S. So would getting TikTok.