Tree Man
They call me Tree Man. While they point their little fingers and laugh, they call me Tree Man. As the stones fly at me from below and they search the ground for more, they call me Tree Man. All day they look up at me, eyes squinting from the illuminating glow which surrounds me. They call me Tree Man. The tree is tall and strong, its mighty arms branching out into the sky, protecting me. My eyes, they burn of the deep green which colors the leaves that give shade to the unwelcome guests below.
The glow recedes until they can no longer distinguish me from the leafy canopy. I like this. It isn’t long before they leave me of their torments and return to their warm homes. “Goodbye Tree Man”, they say. I like the darkness that hides my face. I like how the shadows make me a part of the great tree. The glow is gone. It is cold as the wind rushes through my hair, rustling the leaves, but I do not shiver. A tree does not shiver. Sometimes a bird will land on my leg or shoulder, but I do not move. A tree does not move. In the night, I am the tree. There is no Tree Man. In the night, there is just Tree.
Something hit me hard in the back, and I woke up. My eyes open but squeeze together as the blazing sun overwhelms my vision. The glow has returned. The children, they see me. I look down at them, far below me, and watch as another stone is let loose in my direction. It misses, but I know it will not be the last. Already they are pointing and laughing; always laughing. I don’t care though. Night will come, and while they toil away in the dim glow of their homes, I will be at peace. I will be the tree.
It whistles through the air, and I turn my head to receive a sharp stone in the cheek. I can feel my skin break, a weakness in the glow of daylight. Come nighttime, my skin would be hard, bark, but not now. Wetness slowly expands over my face, dripping rhythmically onto the branch of which I am standing, painting it red. With my hand I touch my face and it too turns red. Down below, they are edging away from the tree as the blood falls like singular raindrops from the sky. They curse at me, waving fingers and shouting angry words. One boy, off to the side, takes out a small knife. I watch him. He has brown hair and dark eyes. His face looks angry as he steps forward. It is the glow. It makes them crazy. Never does it happen in the dark, the shadows, where it is forever peaceful. His steps are slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on mine. I watch him, unsure and yet sure all at once. His mouth twists into a smirk. He raises the knife and presses it into the tree.
I can feel it growing inside me, the heat overtaking my senses. I feel the pain, not in my cheek, but in my soul. I am the tree. The stone, now red, lies at my feet. I take it. He is still there, below, violating us. A young demon he is, and so I take aim and release. I hear the whistle, but he does not, so intent on his destruction. I watch it hit him. It makes a loud noise. I can see the blood as he falls. They stop cursing, and all is silent as they look at their fallen comrade and then up at me. Shock and terror mask their faces when they see the glow that surrounds and suffuses me. The boy’s eyes are closed, but he makes strange noises. Still watching me, they pull his limp form away from us, but I do not care. His knife, it is on the ground, half covered in leaves. The tree will heal. We will heal. I can feel the glow shrinking. The shadows have begun to change me once more. Down below they see this, and once again they are frightened. They run away, carrying their friend, the demon. They called me Tree Man, but today they finally understand; I am the tree.
They call me Tree Man. While they point their little fingers and laugh, they call me Tree Man. As the stones fly at me from below and they search the ground for more, they call me Tree Man. All day they look up at me, eyes squinting from the illuminating glow which surrounds me. They call me Tree Man. The tree is tall and strong, its mighty arms branching out into the sky, protecting me. My eyes, they burn of the deep green which colors the leaves that give shade to the unwelcome guests below.
The glow recedes until they can no longer distinguish me from the leafy canopy. I like this. It isn’t long before they leave me of their torments and return to their warm homes. “Goodbye Tree Man”, they say. I like the darkness that hides my face. I like how the shadows make me a part of the great tree. The glow is gone. It is cold as the wind rushes through my hair, rustling the leaves, but I do not shiver. A tree does not shiver. Sometimes a bird will land on my leg or shoulder, but I do not move. A tree does not move. In the night, I am the tree. There is no Tree Man. In the night, there is just Tree.
Something hit me hard in the back, and I woke up. My eyes open but squeeze together as the blazing sun overwhelms my vision. The glow has returned. The children, they see me. I look down at them, far below me, and watch as another stone is let loose in my direction. It misses, but I know it will not be the last. Already they are pointing and laughing; always laughing. I don’t care though. Night will come, and while they toil away in the dim glow of their homes, I will be at peace. I will be the tree.
It whistles through the air, and I turn my head to receive a sharp stone in the cheek. I can feel my skin break, a weakness in the glow of daylight. Come nighttime, my skin would be hard, bark, but not now. Wetness slowly expands over my face, dripping rhythmically onto the branch of which I am standing, painting it red. With my hand I touch my face and it too turns red. Down below, they are edging away from the tree as the blood falls like singular raindrops from the sky. They curse at me, waving fingers and shouting angry words. One boy, off to the side, takes out a small knife. I watch him. He has brown hair and dark eyes. His face looks angry as he steps forward. It is the glow. It makes them crazy. Never does it happen in the dark, the shadows, where it is forever peaceful. His steps are slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on mine. I watch him, unsure and yet sure all at once. His mouth twists into a smirk. He raises the knife and presses it into the tree.
I can feel it growing inside me, the heat overtaking my senses. I feel the pain, not in my cheek, but in my soul. I am the tree. The stone, now red, lies at my feet. I take it. He is still there, below, violating us. A young demon he is, and so I take aim and release. I hear the whistle, but he does not, so intent on his destruction. I watch it hit him. It makes a loud noise. I can see the blood as he falls. They stop cursing, and all is silent as they look at their fallen comrade and then up at me. Shock and terror mask their faces when they see the glow that surrounds and suffuses me. The boy’s eyes are closed, but he makes strange noises. Still watching me, they pull his limp form away from us, but I do not care. His knife, it is on the ground, half covered in leaves. The tree will heal. We will heal. I can feel the glow shrinking. The shadows have begun to change me once more. Down below they see this, and once again they are frightened. They run away, carrying their friend, the demon. They called me Tree Man, but today they finally understand; I am the tree.
