Disclaimer: I don't own, Batman, Poision Ivy, or Christmas.


Oh Christmas Tree
By The Seitz


I can hear them screaming, and it makes me mad.

I can hear each one of the calling out for help, calling for someone to rescue them, calling for an end to their pain. And end to their torment, their torture. And if I could I would help them, I would jump to their defense and with all guns blazing, with all my power, with everything I could make this body do, I would free them, I would end their pain, and then, I would revenge them.

I would make this city pay.

They would pay for their tortuous ways, they would pay for their foolish actions and they would never harm my little babies again. I would teach them.

They would respect the green.

I can still hear them calling for help. I can hear the green calling me to save it. But in this cell, I can do nothing for them. I canít save the poor young pines sitting in living rooms across Gotham, the heat and humidity of the indoors drying them out, yet keeping them from browning totally. I canít take the bucket from under their severed trunks and stop their poor slow death.

I canít save the live wreaths hanging in all the windows of the stores in down town Gotham. I canít help that they are being hung outside and inside for no other reason than to look pretty or give of their beautiful scent for unappreciative shoppers.

Here in Arkham, I can do nothing but listen to them scream as they slowly die for the sake of a stupid holiday. For a tradition. What I wouldnít give to be able to get myself out of this cell and go down to rescue them. To take them back out with the rest of the green and give them new roots, give them life, to protect them from the fools of this city that would kill them without worry.

I would give anything to escape this place and protect them, save them, cherish them as they deserve to be cherished. To go out and teach the idiots in this city to cherish them as I do. To go and make them understand that they have to respect the green.

If I was free I could walk in the middle of this city and I could call every Christmas tree in this city to arms. I could make them all rise up against their oppressors to come to me and we could wage war until every last human fell. We could fight as one and wipe every man, woman, and child that didnít know to respect the green off of this land. Then I could make it all green, the whole city covered in a living blanket of the green, and all who stayed in my paradise would have to respect it all.

But I canít. Here in this glass prison I can only sit here with my little fern and listen to them scream. Scream for their death, for a savior, for an end to their pain. I can only sit here and cry because they scream so loud for me and I can do nothing... yet.

But Iíll get out. I always do. And when Iím free of this cell Iíll make this city, Batman, everyone will know. Iíll teach them all. They will respect the green.

Or else the green will disrespect them.


fin


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