It had been a long night. After hours of my muscles burning, adjusting my body position, and a nervous pit in my stomach, I was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat highlighted by the bright lights behind me. Looking left and right, it gave me only a small amount of relief to see everyone around me looking the same.   
Christmastime was a rough month for all of us. We had long hours of grueling work until the lights shut off at night and no more eyes passed by us endlessly. At night, we could finally relax and sleep for a few hours. I'd heard horror stories, though, about ones who lived with people who stayed up very late, and they were forced to work even more hours than I did. That fate seemed unimaginably awful.   
This was the life of Christmas ornaments. We worked hard for a few weeks, then were able to rest all year in someone's basement or garage. When I was growing up, I had felt a bit of envy when I looked at the other ornaments, personalized ones like baby feet or ornate ones like intricate Santas or musical instruments. Trust me, you wouldn't like to be stuck in a box with a trumpet for eleven months each year, either.   
It was hard not to compare myself to them, in all their beauty, when I was just a small piece of glitter on a round, sparkling ornament. All the other glitters around me never seemed to mind our fate, shaking their hips all day so the light would bounce and shine off of them, but I found myself sending an occasional longing glance towards the Santas, who stood proudly and smiled all day. They didn't need to do anything special to be appreciated or looked at. They just had to be who they were.
"Henry," my mother had chided once when she caught my stares. "Don't ever be ashamed as to who you are. The Santas are beautiful, but they're imitating someone else. You just have to be you to be beautiful."
That had made me feel better, at least for a little bit. I stood up taller, shined just a little bit brighter, but the feeling didn't last for long. The family we belonged to would have their little nieces over and I'd watch them examine the ornaments in awe. I knew how beautiful, as a whole, the glitter made the tree look, but no one ever stopped to hold our ornament in the palm of their hand, tracing a finger over it with a smile like they did for the sleigh or the princess ones. 
"They just use us!" I muttered unhappily one night after the light had been shut off and I was settling in for sleep. My father had hushed me in a bit of anger. Both my parents and my younger sister dedicated their everything towards the ornament. No one but me ever seemed to feel this life left something to be desired. No one but me felt unloved.
It was one morning, just a few days before Christmas, when John, the middle aged man who had picked us out at a store so many years ago, turned on the lights after he had made his morning coffee. He examined the tree with a smile, as he always did, but a serious expression morphed his features after a moment of searching.
He reached forward and pulled an ornament off the tree, a small snow globe that held a quaint city dusted in snow inside of it. The base of the snow globe, I could see, had a decent size chip off of it. John shook his head in dismay.
"The cat must have got at it again!" he exclaimed with a shake of his head. With a sad expression, he brought the ornament over to the coffee table.
"And that was a favorite of mine, too." He commented before leaving the room.
A dread passed over me that was heavier than any I'd ever felt before. It was as if, suddenly, the weight of all the disappointment I'd felt throughout the years crushed down on me all at once. I swallowed back tears, watching my sister dance happily in front of me, laughing as a beam of light hit her stomach and reflected off. 
No one would ever pick up our ornament and call it their favorite. No one would ever notice me, just a small speck on the ball, despite how hard I'd always worked to make us look beautiful. No one ever appreciated me, or my family, or the other glitters on the ornament who I'd come to know after all the years. My parents were always too busy fussing over looking perfect to notice when I was sad. No one would even notice if I was gone, let alone care. The thought was crippling, and the saddest was the worst that had ever come over me.  
Then, memories of all my shortcomings came to me, too. I thought about how it seemed everyone was better than I was. The twinkling lights seemed attracted to the other glitter, whereas, I could only get a few good shimmers a day. I fell asleep every night, exhausted, but I never really accomplished anything.
The thoughts were suffocating, and I couldn't stand them anymore. With thoughtless resilience and nervousness, I braced my feet against the base beneath me and pushed all my weight against it. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle my groan of pain as I felt the glue that had grounded me for years rip of my back. Free from the bondage for the first time in my life, I was as unsteady as the toddlers I had seen playing on the living room floor some years, friends of the family or John and Karen's children. I pushed my back against the plastic shape, suddenly petrified.
What are you doing? I thought to myself. This is stupid. The glue is probably still wet, push yourself back against it now and stop this stupid rebellion.
But then I caught the sight of my parents, hands interlocked, oblivious to my feelings, and I knew my life would never change unless I changed it. I didn't know what was beyond this house, but surely I could find a place better than the monotonous repetition my fate entailed here.
I wasn't afraid as I jumped off the ornament and landed in a plush, but scratchy branch. Adrenaline pumped through my blood. My hands were weak, but I felt strong and alive as I climbed down. I couldn't believe it. I was getting out.
A gust of wind caught me and whistled through the small holes in me that made an intricate design, sending me sailing to the floor. I let out a small laugh as I dusted myself off, shakily making it to my feet.
Once on the ground, disorientation set it. I looked up at the tall tree above me. Stretching backwards, I could just make out my ornament, still glittering just as bright without me in hues of silver and gold. The tree was silent, unlike the hush whispers that spread about at night. No one had even noticed my descent. While it gave me a sense of relief, it also brought a wave of sadness. Would they ever notice I was gone? Would they ever miss me?
Maybe, just maybe, there was someplace out there who would see me, as small and flawed as I was, and love me anyway. Maybe I could be someone's favorite. It seemed unlikely, but it was the only hope that I had.
When making my escape out of the house, for the first time, I was grateful that I never shined as bright as my fellow glitter. No light reflected off me as I tiptoed across the hardwood floor, the panels cold and foreign beneath my feet, which had never felt anything but air underneath them. I was grateful, too, that the poise I'd practiced and dancing I'd done for years gave me a strength that allowed me to carry myself.
I made it to the back door, which I knew led out to a deck from the times they would raise the curtains in the living room and I could see out the window. Lying down against the floor, my heart pounded in my chest as I slid myself underneath the space between the door and floor. I was sweating by the time I quickly made it outside to the cool, crisp, December air.
I surveyed the vast backyard before me, feeling both overwhelmed and in awe. Already, I felt more at home than I ever had glued against that plastic ball. This world was mine. There was so much to see.
I spent the days exploring the backyard. Walking was still an exhausting task for me, and trying not to be swept away by the wind was hard. I found myself only able to explore for a few hours before I returned to burrow myself in the gravel underneath the deck. But, my days were thrilling. Birds, mice, squirrels, and other animals passed occasionally, still residing in the northeast during this unusually warm winter. They had so many stories to tell, and I often wanted to take their offers to hop on their backs and explore the world with them, but one thing held me back.     
I knew Christmas was rapidly approaching. It was a holiday I had devoted my whole life to, and it was one I wasn't ready to give up quite yet. A few different animals promised they would come back soon and I told them that I might just take them up on their offers to take me away. But for now, I counted down the few days until Christmas finally arrived.
As soon as the sun rose on Christmas morning, I eagerly slid myself back under the door to await for the rising of the family I knew so well. I waited in the kitchen until I heard footsteps bounding down the stairs. A smile broke across my face; I was eager to watch this perfect holiday unfold from a different perspective this year, on the ground with them, instead of feet above them, craning to get a good look.
I made my way back to the living room, where they had just emerged, and while grins immediately broke out over the two children's faces as their gazes fell upon the presents across the floor, we were all stunned as we looked up at the tree.    
What had once been a glimmering, beautifully decorated tree just days ago now stood bare and dull in the early morning lights. Clear, plastic balls were all the remained of the glitter ornaments I knew so well. All the Santas, with their long beards and joyful faces, were absent, along with all the other beloved ornaments. All that was left on the tree were the lights, some of the bulbs smashed, most likely with the force of the other ornaments climbing down.
I was stunned. How had this happened? I had been gone just a few days, leaving a beautiful tree in my wake. The children voiced their confusion, but soon forgot about it as they examined their gifts. John and Karen murmured about a possible robbery, but they gave up the thought. All the expensive presents remained. There was simply no explanation.
While the family let it go for now to resume their normal Christmas morning, I still stood in shock, unable to fathom the events that I had missed. Suddenly a hand landed on my shoulder.
I whirled around in shock and fright, but the fright disappeared when I met the eyes of my mom. Immediately she pulled me into a hug. I was stunned, not expecting to see her or that she would be happy to see me, but I let her babble a million questions into my ear.
After I gave her a very brief explanation of what I'd done, I pulled her aside and voiced my disbelief at what had happened to the tree, confused. Her face creased in anguish as she began to explain.
"We noticed you had left when the lights were shut off that day. We couldn't believe we didn't realize you were gone ," her voice became thick with tears of guilt, but she shook them off.
"A few ornaments left right away to look for you. We just didn't know what happened. Soon enough, though, and when they didn't find any trace of you, we accepted you left on your own accord. It made sense.    
"But once the others had found out you left, some began to talk of leaving, too. It was as if seeing you have the determination to go motivated them to get up, too. Before we knew it, the tree was becoming bare. Your sister left. Then your father, in the middle of the night." My mother started sobbing then, and I pulled her into my arms. What had I done? I'd caused this. I'd ruined everything.    
I don't know how long we stayed there, hugging each other. Long after the children had finished unwrapping, we still stood. I felt oddly detached, seeing the consequences of my actions and not knowing how to change anything. I thought of my sister out there, alone, and my father, too. I thought of all the ornaments, like the snow globe, somewhere in the world. It was so hard for me to grasp.    
I had envied their life, but as soon as they got the chance, they left, too. It didn't make sense. Had I been blind? While I had a hundred other pieces of glitter around me at all times, a family, the Santas were all alone. Sure, they were ogled and told of their beauty, but those who loved them would always walk away and be caught up in something else just minutes later. The love they received was superficial, it was shallow and meaningless, simply appreciation for their looks. But I had people who loved me, truly, and I threw it all away.
I wrapped my arms around my mother a bit tighter, and I began to cry, too. I didn't know what the future would bring for us, just two small specks in a universe that would never truly appreciate all we did. Maybe if any animals came back, we would go with them on a new adventure. Maybe we could start a new life. But I knew this for sure; I would never let her go. And never again would I look at what I had and be unsatisfied, because, no matter what the situation, no matter who had more than you, there was always love.