When a child is born, they are given a tree. Not a seed but a 9 month old sapling. Some trees do end up being younger than their human and some older. After all, it isn’t perfect. But it’s tradition in our little town. No matter the child, everyone gets a tree.
Each of us spends a year in close contact with our tree. Before it is planted somewhere in the forest. Some people try to plant them closer to home. But after the last Thomas boy died, it was officially band. We could not be near our trees. Not that I ever was. My parents always had one rule for us kids. We couldn’t know where the tree was.
It was meant to keep us safe. Because a strange thing happens when you spend a year with a tree. A confirmation that humans aren’t the only things with a conscious. And maybe we really do have souls. Maybe it’s all a fable. Created by a generation focused on saving the trees. But everyone I have known, has died along with their tree. The only time there is no connection is when a human dies before the tree. The tree holds on. I think it’s because we still have memories of the person, and the tree is able to survive. I haven’t asked anyone else what they think. We aren’t suppose to talk about our trees. That was banded a long time ago. We aren’t suppose to write about it, but with the recent deaths. I’m more afraid of what will happen when everyone forgets.
Because for the year you spend with your tree, you connect with the tree. And the tree to you. It begins to take on the necessary C02 consumption needed for our existence. And we begin to become one with the tree with each breathe. When it breathes we breathe. Which is why I have been coughing even though there is no fire by me. But I feel the heaviness on my lungs. Even as I write I feel tired.
But I haven’t had children. I haven’t given the knowledge to anyone. And so few of us know about it. I don’t even know if the others realize their trees are out there. So many people don’t know about their trees.
About the Creator
Lane Burns
I am a Poet and an inspiring short story, one day novel writer.
I like to write in free verse mostly, but am heavily inspired by Emily Dickenson, and tend to create my own rules and ideas as well.
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More stories from Lane Burns and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Don't stay out in the Snow
I had found a new footprint! It was left in the fresh snow. It wasn't like mine, not human. But I couldn’t think of an animal with six toes. It had been snowing all day, and I finally was allow outside. But only for twenty minutes. Because it was getting darker and the snow was still falling from the sky. Maybe just this once, I could breaking mum’s rule. I took one last look at the porch light that was flickering on. It was easy enough to see in the snow. And Miss Rose said that ever good explorer broke the rules sometimes.
By Lane Burns2 years ago in Fiction
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts7 days ago in Longevity
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