The Life of Tree

   “What do you mean you’re not alive?”

     “I’m not a living entity in the sense you imagine. In your universe, there exists life and death, consciousness and unconsciousness, animate and inanimate. This is not so within the location my intelligence keeps its domain.”

     “But, you’re a tree. Aren’t trees alive?”

     “Your mind is manifesting an image and so you see a tree. I, in fact ‘I’ is the improper pronoun, closer to ‘we’, do not possess a physical substance in any form your senses could discern. From our perspective, humans have such a limited comprehension of reality and existence you could apply the word ‘blind’ to your experience. This would be more incorrect than correct, though, so to reach for accuracy, a mystery would be a closer descriptor. But, this lacks importance to you. You did not come here to unravel quantum physics and the true nature of randomness. You came for specific answers to your specific questions.”

     “But, if I’m to value your answers, shouldn’t I believe first in the divine superiority of your manifestation? Otherwise, to accept your answers as truth, without analyzing the source, isn’t that being credulous, a mass sin leading humankind to certain extinction?”

     “Little child, of twelve times one Earth years, value is discerned by application of knowledge producing wisdom. Regardless of its source, answers to questions are only valuable if they produce fruitage, an illustration I’m building on from your transparent mind. You associate knowledge with a Tree, you associate this window/portal into an alternate universe as a source of knowledge and so as my branches creek and leaves rustle, your mind’s palate is prepared to accept truth. You are stalling. Why do you fear my answers? This mental dance is an exercise in futility.”

     “If you’re only a manifestation of a tree in my mind, why are you covered in trinkets? Why not a tree with a face or branches full of fruit? Why is a parrot descending from you and landing on my hand? Why does this bird feel heavy to me? I can smell its musty odor and hear its feather’s ruffle. Does this imagery not have specific meaning for me or is it simply the free association of my sub-conscience brain you have tapped into with your mastery of dark matter?”

     “I discern your hidden hostility. Yet, you have come of your own accord and are demanding my focus and attention. There is wisdom in your leaders preventing such young minds to enter before my presence. Usually, the humans allowed to peer into my realm are focused on their finite measure of time. You squander it as if it is a commodity you possess an unlimited supply of. I am similar to the word you label ‘patient’. It’s your time. Deplete as your desire.”

     “You’re ready for my first question?”

     “Yes.”

     “Why do you agree to answer questions every day? Why share your knowledge with all the sentient beings in our universe with a waiting list many decades long?”

     “Why not? Once again, this is not a question to help you, but directed toward me. Do you have an agenda? I’m accustomed to most creatures from your universe possessing a personal agenda requesting advice on how to further their wills. But, yet you continue to focus on me. This is not normally how these sessions are designed to operate. My existence is so far beyond the entirety of what the quadrillions of sentient beings in your universe experience, it is rather pointless to your limited mind to even attempt such an expose.”

     “Interesting that you bring up the word, agenda. Do YOU have an agenda? You didn’t answer the question as to why you answer our questions. It’s additionally curious that today you have evaded answering my questions with clarity and transparency, yet you’re revered across our universe as the entity with answers. I politely ask you again. Why do you spend your time answering our questions?”

     “The simplest way to explain it, by use of your limited vocabulary, is what you would say, to structure this correctly: I have nothing else better to do.”

     “Why did your tree leaves shudder just now? Is this emotion vomiting from my sub-conscious or a manifestation of your own mental state?”

     “What is the reason for your presence here, little child? Your deception is obvious. You have no personal questions to answer but are interrogating me as if I’m one of your criminals. You are not a young child after all, though your deception is pristine. What is your purpose?”

     “What is my purpose? My, how you disappoint. The only real question I have, besides an overwhelming desire to provide a lengthy commentary on YOUR elevated and calculated deception, is how you fooled so many for so long? Yes, you’re correct. I’m not a child. I’m a collective human mind, from the distant future, who has transferred back here to this point in time as your judge and executioner. Our mapping algorithms and A.I. cooperatives deciphered your patterns, your influences, your subtle mental prodding. Implanting almost imperceptibly, yet incredibly influential nudges, inside the minds of your religious followers, steering the minds of our universe’s inhabitants in a specific and predictable direction. You’re brilliant, you’re calculating, you’re manipulative, and beyond a shadow of any future doubt, you most certainly have an agenda! Ten thousand years from now, you systematically convince the people of this universe to willingly hand over our resources to you until we self-implode. Give up our independence and commit collective suicide, all to preserve this window of knowledge, this tiny focus on you as if listening to your views is the only purpose necessary. But, they’re all lies. And you’re a genocidal psychopath.”

     “Heavy judgment. I did not calculate your species ability to circumvent your linear perception of time.”

     “Ironically, it birthed from a mathematical equation you share with the Schorathian race seven thousand years in the future. I’m here to shut you down across all timelines and rewrite the wave of paradoxes. You won’t deceive one more person in our universe ever again.”

     The window collapsed, the dark matter swirled and imploded on itself, the tree shook and dissolved into almost indiscernible atoms igniting upward as tiny nuclear explosions, mushrooming into an infinite nano-spark of fireworks, ending the reign and destructive influence of the most dangerous mind known to our universe.

A Future Left Behind

His palms were clammy and sticky and his necktie palpated up and down rapidly with each pounding beat of his heart and every step he took.  He patted down the right front pocket of his jeans for the thousandth time, now becoming more an act of obsessive compulsiveness rather than careful mental check listing. He scratched his head as blood pumped feverishly to his scalp causing the hair follicles to tingle. Licking his lips, he quietly mumbled his well prepared speech to himself over and over again. Constantly tweaking a word here and a phrase there, trying to make sure that every word he spoke was perfect. Everything had to be perfect because she was perfect. His breath echoed loudly in his ears and accelerated as his heart rate became more rapid but he needed to calm down before they arrived. A panic attack, well that would definitely NOT be perfect. He closed his eyes and took a long deliberate breath in and a long slow breath out. Another one, in and out. Everything slowed down around him. It was as if he were no longer living in the moment but was watching it from the outside as if watching a movie. He stood at the hip high brick wall at the top of her street. It overlooked the rolling hills and valley. In the distance he could see the sparkling ocean and the long curving bay bridge. He closed his eyes again. It was as clear in his memory as if it had happened yesterday, though it had already been 5 years since they first met. A day he would never forget.

Sloan and her family had only been in California two months when they received an unexpected invitation to a wedding of a new acquaintance. The bride was a gorgeous 5’ 11” blond girl in her early 20’s. Sloan admired her poise and confidence in addition to her beauty, so when they received an invitation in the mail to her wedding, she grinned from ear to ear.

Accompanied by her parents and little brother she walked into the community center rec hall where the reception was being held. Expecting to see bright lights, potluck tables filled with cheesy potato casserole and yacht music, since that had been the kind of weddings she’d attended back in her small hometown of Prescott Valley, AZ, she was stunned and her pace slowed as her eyes opened wide at what she saw. She had walked right into the middle of a fairy tale. The hall personified the bride’s name. Grace.

The room was filled with soft pink, white and silver balloons, floating above and gently bouncing up and down on the dance floor. Twinkling white lights glowed softly through a canopy of white chiffon overhead, vanilla scented candles flickered on guest tables everywhere, and on the far side of the room was a giant 4 tiered cake covered with shaved white chocolate. The likes of which she’d never seen before. The room was filled with a kind of Disney enchantment.

At 16, Sloan was predisposed to experiencing social anxiety so while she was very excited to be there and even in awe of the new culture she was now a part of, she still felt the hundreds of butterflies flitting about her belly. These types of social occasions lent themselves to such awkward behavior as fidgeting with her dress, twisting and chewing on her hair, rocking back and forth from one foot to the next, biting the side of her mouth. But this place with these people brought her way out of her element of comfort. Every guest wore the latest fashions by the most popular designers, had perfectly manicured nails and every piece of hair perfectly placed. She could envision them standing on a red carpet waving to hundreds of adoring fans as white lights flashed across their faces as cameras clicked wildly.

There were quite a few young boys and girls her age, but knew only a very small few and she was not the kind of girl to make herself at home in such a foreign environment. Once the music began to play and the dancing started, her shoulders softened and her lips began to relax a bit. Sitting at the table with her parents she visited with the two girls she met when they first moved to California. They were sisters, Megan and Dee. Looking across the room there was a large group of young men. All of them tall and slender with silky blond hair that seemed to float like birds feathers when they turned their heads. They were the groomsmen, the groom's brothers and their friends. They teased the groom as they joked and laughed about his honeymoon and their first night as husband and wife. But there among the crowd of golden locks stood one beautiful boy. His thick, wavy, light brown hair with gold sun kissed ends, Tuscan bronze colored skin, eyes like warm melted milk chocolate, long dark eyelashes and the most dazzling white smile she’d ever seen. Her heart began to beat faster and her hands trembled ever so slightly. He was gorgeous and she couldn’t stop staring, even though she knew he’d caught her doing so several times. He looked like a model from a Calvin Klein ad. Megan and Dee noticed her staring at him and began to try to coerce her into going over to talk to him. But there was no way on God’s green earth that was ever going to happen. Dee was persistent and determined to to play matchmaker with Sloan and the handsome young man in the light grey suit and skinny pastel pink tie.

Derek, who was 18 at the time, was there at the wedding with his best friend Dillon. Dillon’s older brother Michael was the groom. They had grown up together in Point Loma, one of the oldest navy towns of San Diego. They were all but inseparable. They went to school together, surfed together, got in trouble together, all the typical shenanigans of teenage boys. As he leaned up against the white concrete wall, sipping on some type of pink soda punch, he noticed her, a pretty young girl with long wavy dark brown hair and a few tiny freckles dotting across the bridge of her nose. She wore a steel grey long sleeve blouse with a matching ruffled skirt and an oversized silver necklace that looked like a million tiny flat spoons all around. Time suddenly slowed to a near standstill as he watched her walk across the room carrying a small piece of wedding cake and licking white frosting from her fingertip. For the next half hour he watched her from across the room, sitting with her family and a few of her friends talking and giggling away the evening. As he stood there with Dillon and his buddies talking about the surf report and when they’d be heading out next he couldn’t keep himself from watching her. He was mesmerized by the way she moved, soft and subtle as if moving through water. The longer he watched, the more fixated he became. Trying not to be obvious or let her see him looking at her he kept darting his eyes away and back at Dillon pretending to laugh at another dumb joke they were making about his brother. But soon he realized she had been staring back at him. Finally, after a long conversation with himself over whether he should or should not talk to her the decision was made. He walked over to the table where she sat. He politely introduced himself, first to her mother and then to the rest of the table. Sloan’s mother began to ask a barrage of questions, beginning her thorough investigation of the bold young man who was showing an ever growing interest in her daughter. After only a short time of pleasantries and mannerly, “So where are you from?” “How do you know Michael and Grace?” “Have you lived here your whole life?” etc. etc.. Sloan’s mother then proceeded to give Derek their home phone number saying, "We should have you over sometime." Derek was a bit stunned by the open willingness to offer up that information as was Megan and Dee. Although Dee was somewhat disappointed that she wasn't the one to maneuver things in that direction. Sloan was mortified knowing that her mother was working as a matchmaker, yet not at all surprised. It was the kind of thing she had come to expect from her outspoken mother. Derek walked away grinning ear to ear while she could feel her cheeks on fire from blushing in total embarassment.

The past 5 years of their courtship could not have been more perfect and they could not have been more perfectly matched. Derek knew with absolute certainty that Sloan was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. He envisioned a perfectly crafted future with her. A single story 4 bedroom ranch style home right on the beach. She’d drive a vintage 1969 slate grey convertible Karmann Ghia and he’d drive a 1967 red Chevy Nova Super Sport, they were both always partial to the classics but a brand new black BMW 6 series was their family car of choice. They would have two kids. A boy named Luke and a girl named Sophia, he wanted to name her Leia but Sloan absolutely refused to allow it. It was the future they talked about often and in great detail as they sat on that brick wall overlooking the city.

The brick wall. It was her favorite place to be. She often walked up the street to sit, think, imagine and dream. There on that wall she could escape from a world of pain she hid from her friends and from Derek. Secrets she kept buried deep even from herself. “This is where my life started.” She thought to herself.

He was always a perfect gentlemen, thoughtful and kind. When he kissed her that day he was just as thoughtful and kind. Their first kiss together was her first kiss ever. It was soft and tender like the velvet petals of a rose and tasted a little like warm buttered popcorn as his breath warmed her lips. It was the kind of kiss she had dreamt of. “God, please don’t let this end.” She thought. Then she began to blush for fear that she had whispered the words out loud. She smiled as she gazed softly into his eyes. Her thoughts projected the final scene from one of her favorite movies, Sixteen Candles. Samantha, in a pastel pink bridesmaid dress. Sitting atop a glass dining table she leaned over her birthday cake and kissed the ever so dreamy Jake Ryan. The highly synthesized Thompson Twins song, “If You Were Here” played in the background. This time she was the star of her own romantic movie. The memory of their first kiss always came to mind every time she went to the brick wall, no matter how many times she was there. This time was no different. As she and Derek walked up the long street to the top of the hill where the brick wall overlooked the beautiful Southern California city she closed her eyes and saw it all again. That perfect first kiss. The kiss she would forever compare all other kisses to and the kiss none would ever be as perfect as.

Lost in that beautiful memory, she never noticed Derek’s clammy hand or the uncomfortable fidgeting and unusual pocket checking he was doing. She could not have been more content or happy.

They arrived at their perfect brick wall and stopped to catch their breath. The coastal breeze blew her soft tendrils back over her shoulders and cooled his sweaty hands. He turned to face her and took her hands into his. “Sloan” he said with a slight quiver in his voice. “You are one of the most amazing and beautiful women I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that, I really mean it. I know this is all going to sound so cliche but I don’t know how else to say what I feel. You’re not just beautiful on the outside but you’re beautiful on the inside. I’m so happy that you came to Michael and Grace’s wedding that day. I knew when I saw you walk across the room with that wedding cake in your hand licking the frosting off your fingers that I had to meet you. But what I didn’t know is just how hard I would fall for you. I am completely head over heels in love with you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Then, kneeling down on one knee he pulled out a stunning antique square cut diamond and platinum ring and asked, “Sloan, will you marry me?” With trembling hands and tears streaming down her ice cold cheeks she opened her mouth but not a single sound came out. He stood up and began to place the ring on her delicate finger when she suddenly pulled her hand back towards her chest and said, “I can’t. I’m so sorry but I… I just can’t.” Then she quickly spun around and began to sob uncontrollably as she ran away. Derek watched her run farther and farther away from him the way a single balloon might quickly float up and out of sight. He wanted to chase after her, but his shoes had become heavy as though they were filled with led and he couldn’t move. The image of her sweet freckled face would forever torment him. Her eyes, once vibrant, alive and electric green had turned dark and filled with terror. For the rest of his life the questions would play over and over again in his mind like a broken record. ‘Why? What happened? Did I do something?’ Questions he would one day resolve himself to never have answers to.

The Death Penalty

This is the last time I can die.

     The lingering brine parches my tongue and when I lick my snout the sensation of swallowing sand seeps down my throat. I collapse into the sand on all fours after crossing that cursed sea and I suppress a howl, mourning the loss of the remaining balance of my lives.

     If this path were simple, there would be more criminals to live to tell the tale.

     I whimper, a muffled sound lost into the night sky, absorbed by the slow whirl of the churning windmill, the final marker.

     I creep along with my gaze on the castle and a growl percolates in the pit of my throat, an aspect of my wolf-sense I haven’t mastered, warning me of the danger lurking inside. Though I radiate power in this form, I preferred when the Game-Master provided me with the form of eagle. Flying, though only for a few levels, reminded me of my true calling. Piloting a Burner SA-13 scout ship near uncharted black holes and dead star systems, collecting data samples for the Documation Agency. A bittersweet memory.

     The growl deepens and surfaces as a bark. Stupid! But, I can’t help myself, I shouldn’t have allowed myself to think about those spineless cowards, the Agency who tried and convicted me of the digital theft I was accused of.

     I could have chosen an alternate route. I had the choice to confess to a modified version of the truth, which would have frozen my existence for a thousand years, fast-forwarding my mind into the future, and restarting my life again at forty-five in an alien environment without friends or credentials.

     But, I would never see my daughter again. Unacceptable.

     The creaking door punctures my pointing ears, the castle awakened by my bark. The thirteenth and final labyrinth.

     I stride toward the panel to the right. My final options. Remain as a dog and recharge my strength, return to my human form with only modest strength modifications, or choose any past form: eagle, bear, or bull.

     I choose my well-worn, human self. I want my final existence to be familiar.

     I press my snout against the panel. The transformation is instantaneous and painless. I flex my digitally enhanced fingers and form fists; I rub my small human nose.

     As I step through the threshold, an unfamiliar electric charge burns through my veins. This place is familiar. Too familiar. It’s a reconstruction of my apartment-flat from Stenllos Seven, the home where I raised my daughter.

     I don’t expect this. My pattern seeking mind assumed it would be another labyrinth filled with puzzles.

     They’re using my daughter against me! Have they unlocked the truth? I punch the wall in the entryway, my uncontrollable canine instinct still lingering. Would I die, whimpering like a baby about how I failed my daughter in so many aspects of life, my final goodbye to her?

     Almost drowning in the sea has derailed my determination to destroy this world, gain my freedom, and be reunited with my daughter again. I shake the past off my body and snap my eyebrows together.

     I lift my left foot with great care and step into the living quarters, approaching a couch facing away. I move around the corner and approach my daughter. She’s eleven years old and taking a nap.

     My gasp awakens her.

     She blinks and sits up, her golden hair flowing across her shoulders, an image straight from a memory burned into my brain. A tiny angel, a reflection of her deceased mother, the only link I have to my short-lived, but perfect past. I spoiled her rotten, an obvious mistake, though I failed to stop myself…

     “Daddy!” Her teary-eyed face and cracking voice shatters my spell. “Where are we?”

     Did they make a digital copy of my flesh and blood daughter? Is there nothing they won’t do to break me and uncover the truth? Yet, her being here with me, in the end, warms my blood.

     “Daddy’s being tested, Easta. Don’t be frightened. You love adventures. Remember your favorite story? What’s your favorite story?”

     She’s not easily distracted. She has the inspector mind. “Why are you being tested?”

     She’s so real; the words catch in my throat and I blink back my tears. “I was accused of a crime I didn’t commit. Now, I must convince them I’m telling the truth and not hiding anything. This fabricated world is a lie detector; they’re sifting through my thoughts, challenging my beliefs, channeling to the core of my soul, and exposing my motives. They’re using you to break me. Choose your words carefully.”

     Her eyes darken, a crimson glow silhouetting her irises. “You’re a criminal, Daddy!” She folds her arms.

     “Does it matter so much, my daughter?”

     “What did you do? Tell me!”

     “Why? The world believes their version of truth. The only one who matters is you. Do you judge me by one moment, Easta? Or do you judge me by the thousands of times I’ve read to you, worked to feed you, brought you to school, taught you life lessons, cried with you and for you, helped you stay strong when you missed Mommy…”

     Easta leaps from the couch, transforming into the young woman I left to fend for herself at twenty-two and hugs me tight, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry for lying to them! I was so angry with you for leaving on that job for five years, I don’t know why I lied and told them you stole…”

     I hold her head as I smile through my wet face. “And now you know why I couldn’t tell them the entire truth. This was the only way. The final gamble. Freedom for the both of us. Live or die. Now, watch your words, they are listening…”

     She wipes her wet hair out of her eyes. “But, if you die, I will never forgive myself…”

     I reach for her hand. “That’s why you must help me win. For both of us.”

     She smiles. “I will, Daddy. We’ll beat them together.”

And I choose to believe her.