A Punishment of Trees

There wasn't anything funny about it. Cynthia, if she were here right now, would have laughed and quoted some stupid song lyric to show off how 'hip' and 'ironic' she was, but she had been thrown twenty feet away and wasn't here to say anything. ...Not that anything could even be said, but generally speaking...1

Never mind. I'm getting myself all mixed up and the story hasn't even begun yet. Let's start again, shall we? And, remaining true to the original paragraph, let's focus on Cynthia. 2

Cynthia is my granddaughter, whom I've raised since her mother abandoned her at age four. The state assigned me as her guardian – God knows why. Apparently the fact that my own daughter turned out to be a crack whore didn't seem too important to them when judging my child-raising capabilities. Nonetheless, I was grateful for a second chance. 3

I've had more spare time than most to raise a child. I'm a writer by profession. I've written about thirty books since my first was published during the seventies. The industry has treated me well and I've become, at least compared to my fellow writers, a literary success. 4

"The Best Neo-Feminist Writer in America," proclaimed the New York Times after my most recent book was published. 5

...Not that that matters now. Forget about it. 6

My second try at childrearing proved much better than my first. Cynthia was sixteen before the Reckoning occurred and she had been a straight-A student. She was set to graduate a year early and already we were looking at colleges and researching scholarships. 7

Besides being smart, she was beautiful as well. She had blond hair, as wavy as mine was, but much longer. She was thin and athletic, with tall legs and a pretty face. I wish I could say that she'd been my spitting image, but that would be a lie. I'd never been as tall or as pretty in my day, but the fact that I'd spent more evenings alone than on hot dates had led to my becoming a writer. Can't complain about it that much, I'd say.8

It was nice, then, to have such trivial matters to worry about. 9

Cynthia and I had just returned from a weekend drive to the University of Quebec. I wasn't so fond of the idea of her moving out of state, let alone to another country, but Cynthia insisted on going. She had taken French since middle school and the proximity of the Quebecois excited her, as then she'd be able shout "bonjour" to people, or whatever it is that you do in foreign countries. 10

We had just pulled into the driveway and were unpacking the car when the goddess appeared. 11

Now, the term "goddess" is mere speculation and, were I able to discuss it with anyone, undoubtedly there would be a rousing debate about the relationship between theology and natural phenomenon. Unfortunately, since I will never see my friends again, I am forced to use only my briefest glimpse of the entity to assume that she was divine. 12

When she first appeared, there was no big bang or flash of light. There was no noticeable physical change to indicate that something had materialized in the sky. Despite that, however, everyone knew that something big had happened. The neighbors, who were washing their cars or tossing Frisbees to one another, had all ceased their activities at her appearance. Even the DJ on the radio my next-door neighbors had blaring stopped his inane chatter, dropping the entire neighborhood into a sudden silence.13

"Grandma, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Cynthia asked, releasing her grip on her backpack as she stared up at the sky. I hardly even registered what she said at first. My gaze was frozen upon the entity and I could barely look away to glance at my granddaughter. 14

"I'm seeing her, too, honey," I whispered. I'd meant to say it in an authoritative manner, but my voice seemed to run out of steam before the first word had even come out.15

This wasn't my fault, however. I blamed the giant face of the goddess. It hung in the sky like the moon, only infinitely bigger and much, much crueler. The face was blue and white, blending in with the clouds, and the eyes were like twin supernovas of blank, hollow dismissal. The lips, dark like thunderclouds, twisted into a frown and her hair curled around the sky, golden like sunlight and insubstantial as fog. 16

"What is that?" the radioed voice of the DJ shrieked as the face gazed down upon us, disapproval radiating from every glance. 17

When I looked at the sky, a strange occurrence took effect. Somehow, I knew that the face wasn't just appearing over my neighborhood. The knowledge blasted itself inside of me; the face was somehow appearing everywhere to every person in the world. No matter if you were in Egypt, Korea, Australia, or Kansas, the face of a goddess stared down upon you the sky. 18

And judging from the look in her eyes, I had a feeling that this wasn't a good omen. 19

The twin thunderclouds parted and the goddess began to speak. 20

"I am disappointed in you creatures," a booming voice cried, the vibration shaking my bones like some hellish machine. It was so loud ! I covered my ears with my hands, but it didn't help. The voice, mercilessly, continued onwards. 21

"I have given you a home to live on. I have granted you water to drink and air to breath, despite my earliest reservations. I have given you food and life and warmth and tolerance and what have you done with my gifts?" 22

Her anger and disappointment were apparent to even the densest person on earth. I felt a wave of shame wash over me, even though I wasn't sure what it was that I was supposed to be ashamed of. 23

The goddess continued and I felt tears being forced from my eyes from the loudness of her voice. The pressure was unbearable. 24

"You have destroyed your own home, you vile creatures! My seas are corrupted, my air is polluted, and half of the beasts have been killed or driven to death! My lord husband, whom you call "the Earth," offers nothing but excuses and half-hearted justifications for your trespasses, but I have ceased to be forgiving.25

"You are murdering the Earth with negligence and I have tolerated it LONG ENOUGH." 26

The last words blasted through the air, the loudest sound I have ever heard in my life. Even as Cynthia screamed and clutched at her head, I could feel my eardrums literally burst. But still the noise went on. 27

I noticed that Cynthia was staring at me in horror and I felt wetness under my fingers. Pulling my hand away from my head, I realized that I was bleeding, well gushing really, from both ears.28

She moved towards me and I reached for her, never mind the blood. Our fingers had almost met, when the change happened. 29

The entire world exploded. 30

It was like the world was a bag of popcorn kernels and someone had just pushed the power button on the microwave. I screamed, silently to my bleeding ears, as my body was thrown into the air by an unseen force. I scrabbled at the air in panic as I literally flew into the backyard where I landed in a violent heap. I could feel my bones breaking, first my arm, which had touched the ground first, then my hip as I fell roughly onto my side and skidded to a halt. 31

I tried to get up, never mind the pain, but I couldn't seem to get off of the ground. I stared blindly in disbelief as my fingers, which had dug into the dirt through the force of the landing, refused to come out. I tried pulling, but my muscles were gone. Not through weakness, exactly, but as though they had turned to stone.32

Glancing about wildly, I saw Cynthia on the other corner of the yard. She had been thrown about twenty feet away from me and she, too, didn't seem to be able to move. It even seemed like her skin was turning darker. Perhaps the goddess was somehow affecting the light from the sun? But no, her skin really was turning dark brown. Oh god, what was happening to her? 33

A wave of terror rushed through me. My skin was turning brown, too. Not just brown, either, but growing rough and hard. Like scales, almost, but that wasn't entirely correct. Like bark. My skin was turning into tree bark. I tried to pull my hands out of the dirt to rub at my skin. But, somehow, my fingers were longer now, so much longer. They were digging into the soil and I could feel moisture traveling up them to my mouth, like water. I was drinking from my fingers. My fingers had turned into roots. 34

A flash of insight burst into my mind then and I realized, as clearly as if someone had shouted it into my ear, how the goddess was punishing us. 35

As humans we were a failure. So the goddess had turned us all into trees. 36

"This is impossible," I tried to say, but my mouth no longer worked. I no longer had a mouth and my head was turned up so that I could see into the sky, where the face watched impassively as the silent drama took hold. Before the rough bark grew over my eyes and covered my vision forever, I stared at the goddess's face in absolute dread, trying desperately to communicate to her with my silent plea. 37

Nothing stopped the changes. As my eyes sunk into my skull and the rough penetrating pull of branches burst out of my trunk, I knew that nothing could be done. We'd had our chance at life on the planet and we'd ruined it. 38

I relaxed into a wooden thoughtlessness and gave myself over to the change.39

~*~*~*~*~*~*40

I am an oak tree now. I was never one for nature when I had been human, but even I can recognize the tiny acorns that grow on my branches. It is a wonderful process that gives me a feeling of connection and meaning. Whenever the season of acorns comes by, I am reminded of how it felt to breastfeed my daughter those many years ago. I wonder what sort of tree she has become, if it is an oak like me or something else entirely. And I wonder if she's happier now as a tree, than when she'd been a human. I hope she is. I would pray to the goddess for my daughter's sake, but I doubt she would listen. Humanity had disappointed her.41

I cannot see Cynthia but I know she is there. I can feel her, with the strange tree senses that are not taste or touch or smell, but something else altogether. By the flow of the wind and the slow vibrations of her roots as they grow in the soil, I can tell that she is an elm tree and that she is growing well. I wish that I could speak with her, communicate with her in some way. 42

I know Cynthia must be lonely, growing by herself. I wish that I could at least hold her, have my branches support her own as she grows towards the sun. But she is too far away and we are forever separated. 43

Although time passes differently for a tree than it does for a human, I am still aware of who I am. Occasionally, I am tempted to slip my consciousness into the leisurely growth of the tree and never think again. I have done this before, temporarily for a week or so, but always I force myself back into thinking like a human again. 44

This is because of who I am. I am a writer. All my life, I have been the person who records stories, both true and untrue. I may no longer have hands to write with, and lord knows that there isn't anyone left in the world who would be able to read it, but I still long to tell my story.45

So I compose it in my head, again and again, as I am doing now. I think of how I would tell the story of the Reckoning. This is what I call that day, many seasons ago, when the Goddess gave her punishment to all humanity. It has a nice ring to it and I wish I could tell someone the name I've called it. If things were back to normal, I'm sure it would catch on. 46

But, as I have said before, there is no one. I am alone, and there is nothing worse than a storyteller without an audience. Every day, it seems, as I grow into the sun and my leaves turn green with health, I write this story in my head. It is never the same, always changing each time I retell it, but nonetheless, this is what I do. 47

The words of my story are fluid and ever-shifting, formless and forever. Always. 48

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