text: 1. Despair The soldier's hands shook. He trembled. He wept. Conscious thought eluded him at that moment, eclipsed by the paralysis that seemed to have seized control of his functions. He stood there, amidst the bruised soil and the shattered, red-rimmed skies. Tears wept down his face - a muddied river of rust and salted loss. The grit and grime of the past few years still clung onto him, coating him in a visceral reminder of his own sins. His feet ached, chest burned, and the fist around his heart a tight choke-hold that drained what little strength he is still possessed at that moment. The lands wept red alongside him. Like him, like all of them, it had been irreversibly changed - wrenched flesh and chunks of sanity ripped apart, marked irreversibly by the darkness that had suffocated the lands during the events of the war. Winning or losing, it didn't matter. It felt like choosing between a path of thorns and a path of needles. Both still tore him up. It felt as if victory mattered not, not when bought with this sort of sacrifice. What terrible loss, his heart grieved. Staring out at a ravished field, his fingers curled around a single seed of salvation - a token that he had found on one of the many beaches invaded during the course of the fighting. Amidst the sprays of blood in the air, among the cries and screams and thuds of bodies and dismembered chunks, huddled in a singular trench nearer to the main inland, by chance or by fate, his hands had closed upon a singular acorn. He had kept it, unsure of why. Now, he thinks he knows . He fell to his knees. The soil drank in his tears greedily. He crawled, flesh pressing against cracked mud and living layers of rust, all strength fled from his weary frame. Making an indent in the ground gently, he pressed the acorn into the embrace of its arms. “Take it.” He says aloud, rasping, and unsure as to why he was even speaking aloud. For, who was there to listen, but the lonely wind? Body bent, he stood, amidst the weight of the world crushing in his shoulders. The soldier wore a coat of blood, the flesh of the nameless and bones of despair. He was inconsequential, he knew, and as the haze began to descend once more onto the plateau, he breathed, and faded into the mist. -**- 2. Grief Karen loved the stars. The old gardener remembered that much about his late wife. He missed her so much, that it felt like he had already lost the world. He breathed without air, and moved without life. He found himself lonely. It was much worse lately, with his own fading memories slipping away as his mind began to deteriorate with age and grief. He couldn’t remember her voice, or how she looked. He remembered her wrong, he knew, sometimes with the nose just the slightest bit crooked and the eyes always the wrong shade of green. It hurt, so much more than he could ever imagine. Photographs were useless - old and worn and too still and lifeless - and the physical reminder of it picked too hard away at the floorboards and walls of his guarded mind that he soon found himself locking everything away. The house was empty, and his heart even emptier. He came to a rest in front of a familiar plot of land. Near his and Karen’s house, just at the outskirts of the town where they lived. Like a clutch, he used it to ground himself. Bitterness and melancholy swelled in his heart, swamped by the tenderness of being scraped raw, and he lingered there. He knelt there, as if in front of an altar, and reverently pressed his fingers against the mound of soil ensconcing a lithe, green sapling. The ever-present buzz in his head receded, and he let training and experience take over in a rhythm of motion. He tended to that plant until the sun had fully set and his eyes stung from the encroaching darkness. He came back to himself hours later, blissful from the task of nothingness. He paused, before turning away. “I miss you.” He said, voice barely audible. The wind stole his words away. Below, his wife’s ashes shivered in the soil, from where he had buried her. -**- 3. Glee “And then the good guy’s plane swooped in,” The ten-year old babbled excitedly. Samuel sat atop the bulging stump of the roots, from where the wood panned out on its own as if to create a seat all for him. The thought excited him, and with renewed vigour, he smashed the two toy planes clutched in both hands together. A plastic thud rang out, and with added, dramaticized sound effects, Samuel fell backwards laughing, along with figurines. A gentle layer of twigs and fledglings leaves cradled his head from before it could smack against the ground. Samuel felt safe here. It was a nice place, where nobody would ever bother him and he could do whatever he wanted. He wrinkled his nose, and then grinned - he didn’t have to do any chores or homework! “I love you!” He told the burgeoning tree happily, from his spot upside-down. “We’re going to be best friends forever!” The sunlight beamed back at him, and the leaves patted his hair. From the distance, his mother watched him play. A small smile lingered on her lips, tired and worn, but oh so bright . She thought about that kind old man that had sold them this house at such a low price, and saved her and her son from wandering too far from her family’s hometown. Lord knows that they had desperately needed to save that money. God bless that man’s heart. -**- 4. Greed The thief stole into the night, a duffel of his ill-gotten gains thrown over a shoulder haphazardly. Like a shadow, he crept along the darkness, among and through the many winding paths of the small village. He ran past the quaint little houses and shops, and further into the depths of the denser thicker. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, a rather jittery, skewed sense of excitement that kept him moving fast. Foliage slapped itself against the side of his legs, and dark grass lapped hungrily against his bare ankles. He kept to the side of the village, just at the outermost border of civilisation and wilderness. An idea came across him at once, just as he came across a stroke of good fortune. He spied a small property nearby, cross-haired just at the edge of the woods. He headed for it, almost drunk on the mischievous gaze of the moonlight and the success of that night. What good fortune! Almost immediately, he tripped. There was a moment of stunned weightlessness, before the ground rushed up towards his face. His sight was filled with the vision of rather pointy rocks and sharp sticks, and a split second of sheer panic, before the actual impact took place. Curses slipped out of his mouth, harsh and bitingly guttural. Pain stitched itself across his skin in waves, throbbing like hell . “What the f -” The small, stunted tree in front of his face twitched in annoyance at the crude language. It’s leaves dipped and swayed irritably. The ground beneath the rude, little thief yawned open and swallowed him whole. -**- 5. Friendship The scent of wet cat was strong in the dog’s nose. The animal shuddered in revulsion, lingering only slightly before bounding up beside its human-friend. Human-friend smiled nicely and patted the dog’s head, rubbing that spot that was just so in between his ears. Cat-grievances pushed immediately aside, the dog started panting in a grin, flopping bodily to his paws before nudging a pointed snout under its human-friend’s touch. It had only a moment to enjoy the contact, before the smell of disgustingly wet cat filled its nose. A low growl welled up in the dog’s throat. Giving his human-friend an apologetic grunt, the dog bounced back on its haunches, before launching itself after the source of the smelly cat. It followed the path, led by the stench itself, and found itself screeching to a halt in front of a large tree. The evil was strong here. The dog barely had a moment to properly scent its surroundings, before a thoroughly displeased cat yowled itself into existence. The little furry demon leapt straight at him, with the audacity to actually attack! For a moment, the dog was stunned. He almost didn’t move, but the abrupt dig of claws scratching into his back - the demon was marking him! - pushed him to retaliate. Growling, he snapped at the little fiend, baring his large teeth and drool and wicked tongue. The two animals snapped at each other, a flurry of furred bodies scrabbling at each other, as the air was filled with the grunts and battle-cries of the two very displeased animals. It seemed like hours, before the fight drew to a halt. Energy completely sapped, they sagged to their sides, on opposite directions, but still facing each other warily. The cat began to lick itself clean. The dog harrumphed, before doing the same. Both were satisfied. I won, the cat thought with a purr. I am the best winner! The dog thought with a happy rumble. In a good mood, the dog limped to his feet, before cautiously padding over to his defeated foe. The cat hissed at him, with one warning claw swiping over his wounded nose. Sticking out a wet, pink tongue, the dog licked the cat. Deliberately, and slowly. A heartbeat later, the two animals were racing against, but side-by-side this time. Their first course of action? The cat rubbed its face against the bark of a tree. The dog twitched, before lifting one leg, and then smugly marked its territory over the cat’s against this nice-smelling tree. Mine , they both thought loudly. A small crack. Two sticks dropped themselves warningly on each of their heads. The animals yelped, and raced away. -**- 6. Faith “Oh, Lord,” The pastor hummed beneath a canopy of shaded leaves and warm, gentle light. ”You are my God, and I will ever praise you.” He knelt there for some time, bowing his head in prayer. I thank you, Lord. Things have been hard lately, and there’s so many things that I’m struggling with, but I’m going to trust in you. Thank you for always being there with me. I need your help, Lord. Guide me in everything I do, and reveal your Word to me, so that I can go out and share your Message. Thank you. For everything. In Yeshua’s name, I pray. Amen. -**- 7. Passion The paper was white and glistening. Her hand moved on autopilot, dictated by the pulse and rhythm of the forest around her. Smears of contented blues and glistening yellows painted themselves amidst the parchment, and the artist inside of her felt more at peace than ever. Inks spread themselves out as the sunlight illuminated her face and work - the brilliant setting scene of a gentle cadence. A giddy shout from the edge drew her attention, and she turned at once. Her heart ached with joy and equal disbelief. Her sister and mother raced towards her, twin-suns of beaming adoration and love on their faces. Behind them, strolling at a steadier pace, but the calm, steady figure of her father. She hadn’t seen them for over a year. Her hands shook. Her eyes glistened. She had thought... She had thought that they had been too busy to come, but the evidence presented to her said otherwise. She took a deep, shuddering breath. The artist stood strong beneath the proud, arching oak tree, and waved back at her family. -**- 8. Epilogue There are things that yet remain hidden from the gaze of humanity. This does not mean that humanity has not part to play in shaping them, however. Birthed from the blood and tears of a despairing soldier longing for home so long ago, amidst a sea of despair and suffocating anguish, was a small seed. In the ground, the acorn went, and the tree grew accordingly. Nurtured by the grieving gardener and the joyful child, hardened by the greedy nature of the thief that stole at midnight, further confused by the contradictory yet clear nature of animal companions, supplemented by the faith and unyielding belief of the preacher and softened by the beauty of the simple things in life, the love of the artist and her passion - from all of these things was brought forth a tree spirit. Born from the blood and tears, the greed and love, of humanity, they grew. Now, the wizened little creature sits atop the highest branch of its tree. Their legs sway and swing in the rhythm of the breeze, and their head of curls sweep across their face like leaves dancing in the suspended air. At peace at last, they smile. A bird curiously walks over, one day. The creature beams, and mischievously nudges a small, glowing acorn across the span of the branch. The bird tilts its head, and understands - it picks the innocuous-looking thing up and with a mighty flap of wings, flies away into the purple-yellow sunset. The end.