Tell Me About the Trees Where You Live
Un.
I used to burn behind the home that housed two young boys. Their parents were there, too, but it was the boys that would bring their friends next to me and talk all around me, letting me listen in, never thinking I might want to speak. Sometimes there would be a silence that I would try to fill, but I never could. They were twins who seemed to have a connection between their brains. They would sit across from each other and look over my fingertips, searching for them, wanting them, and their eyes would meet with the kind of heaviness only words can carry. A weight that I never got to bear.
Josiah was beside me nearly every night. He rarely brought anyone besides his brother to me, but I didn't mind--he would do his homework or write a song or just stare at me, through me, to the sticks and stones I lived upon. Sometimes he'd talk to himself. I never felt like he was speaking to me, but the noise comforted me all the same, hearing his voice with no one but me around to hear it. I loved our lonely nights. I loved him.
But one night, he ruined it.
There were two steps of footsteps coming down the slope to the fire-pit where I resided. A figure in the dark shimmered, like it was made of metal, like you could create coins from it. And as it got closer, I saw it wasn't made of metal, but wearing it. A girl. With Josiah. Their hands were clasped.
That night stung me in a way I'd never felt, never thought I could feel, because I am not an object and I do not have a voice and I am not supposed to be able to think or feel, but I could--it burned me the same way I burn wood and coals and air. They laughed nervously. Sometimes silence would lay itself on that damned boy and that damned girl and I would try to speak, but they couldn't hear me. No one ever would be able to.
When they both knew it was too late to stay, he kissed her. And she kissed back. They wouldn't stop kissing. My scream echoed within me but nowhere else as I was forced to watch him lose himself to her, become someone completely different, a monster I never wanted to listen to again. I was tired of his songs. I wanted him to leave now and never take himself, or that girl, near me again.
I'd been living in that fire-pit for years. It never rained or snowed too much, and the boys kept me covered, took care of me, making sure one ember of me remained alive forever and ever and ever. That night, Josiah walked his little vixen back up the hill to her car, staying with her so long I knew they had to be kissing or maybe even fucking again. When he came back, he was carrying something. Water.
He threw the water on me, made me hiss and scream while he looked on with the smile of someone in love, and happy to be there--I'd been there for years, trapped, wanting to stay but wanting out--and he didn't care that I was dying. He didn't care that he'd just tried to murder me. I kept wailing behind him, trying to save myself as pieces of me drowned and died, until there were just two embers of me left. Two. One for my love, one for my hate.
Josiah never came out to me again. His brother did, every once in a while, but I stopped listening in on his conversations and started planning.
I waited for a night when no one came out, even as every light in the house flickered off one by one. The wind picked my embers up, carrying them like paper airplanes made from love letters, letting me grow from a pile of defeated embers to fire, fire, fire and I latched onto the house and began to scream.
I knew where his room was. I'd jumped to a bit of wall just below his window, far enough away from the smoke signal so no one else would hear, close enough that I could creep up and leap into the warmth of a room I never got to see and smothered him, just like how he tried to smother me. Another feeling I'd never felt was fueling me. If I'd had a pulse, it would've been quick; if I'd had a face, it would be flushed with excitement. Excited. Revenge, finally, revenge!
The crackling of me didn't wake him up until I was slowly spreading through his room, covering the floor and doorway until there was no escape, and then his eyes shot open with a fear so bright, his eyes seemed to change color. He screamed in unison with me as I overtook his bed, catching onto the blankets that always seemed so secure, and then--yes!--his clothes, skin, hair, finally mine. All mine! He was crying and shaking beneath me as I reared up to tear apart his chest, driving my roaring voice through his bones and lung and heart, his eyes staring at me....
He looked at me with remorse.
Suddenly there was regret within me, a desire to turn back, wanting to recede back into the two embers of me he'd left behind and cry out and tell him I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't. The deed had been done. And soon he would be nothing but a charred skeleton, maybe not even that, just ashes that came from me like children. Like he was mine.
I'm so sorry, I tried to say. I swear. I was, I wanted to go back, but he kept crying and screaming and his parents had woken up, and they were staring at me. Scared for their son, burning, but too scared to get caught by me to help him. As if I could want anyone but Josiah.
Within the next few minutes, he was gone. Soon after, so was I.
Josiah was beside me nearly every night. He rarely brought anyone besides his brother to me, but I didn't mind--he would do his homework or write a song or just stare at me, through me, to the sticks and stones I lived upon. Sometimes he'd talk to himself. I never felt like he was speaking to me, but the noise comforted me all the same, hearing his voice with no one but me around to hear it. I loved our lonely nights. I loved him.
But one night, he ruined it.
There were two steps of footsteps coming down the slope to the fire-pit where I resided. A figure in the dark shimmered, like it was made of metal, like you could create coins from it. And as it got closer, I saw it wasn't made of metal, but wearing it. A girl. With Josiah. Their hands were clasped.
That night stung me in a way I'd never felt, never thought I could feel, because I am not an object and I do not have a voice and I am not supposed to be able to think or feel, but I could--it burned me the same way I burn wood and coals and air. They laughed nervously. Sometimes silence would lay itself on that damned boy and that damned girl and I would try to speak, but they couldn't hear me. No one ever would be able to.
When they both knew it was too late to stay, he kissed her. And she kissed back. They wouldn't stop kissing. My scream echoed within me but nowhere else as I was forced to watch him lose himself to her, become someone completely different, a monster I never wanted to listen to again. I was tired of his songs. I wanted him to leave now and never take himself, or that girl, near me again.
I'd been living in that fire-pit for years. It never rained or snowed too much, and the boys kept me covered, took care of me, making sure one ember of me remained alive forever and ever and ever. That night, Josiah walked his little vixen back up the hill to her car, staying with her so long I knew they had to be kissing or maybe even fucking again. When he came back, he was carrying something. Water.
He threw the water on me, made me hiss and scream while he looked on with the smile of someone in love, and happy to be there--I'd been there for years, trapped, wanting to stay but wanting out--and he didn't care that I was dying. He didn't care that he'd just tried to murder me. I kept wailing behind him, trying to save myself as pieces of me drowned and died, until there were just two embers of me left. Two. One for my love, one for my hate.
Josiah never came out to me again. His brother did, every once in a while, but I stopped listening in on his conversations and started planning.
I waited for a night when no one came out, even as every light in the house flickered off one by one. The wind picked my embers up, carrying them like paper airplanes made from love letters, letting me grow from a pile of defeated embers to fire, fire, fire and I latched onto the house and began to scream.
I knew where his room was. I'd jumped to a bit of wall just below his window, far enough away from the smoke signal so no one else would hear, close enough that I could creep up and leap into the warmth of a room I never got to see and smothered him, just like how he tried to smother me. Another feeling I'd never felt was fueling me. If I'd had a pulse, it would've been quick; if I'd had a face, it would be flushed with excitement. Excited. Revenge, finally, revenge!
The crackling of me didn't wake him up until I was slowly spreading through his room, covering the floor and doorway until there was no escape, and then his eyes shot open with a fear so bright, his eyes seemed to change color. He screamed in unison with me as I overtook his bed, catching onto the blankets that always seemed so secure, and then--yes!--his clothes, skin, hair, finally mine. All mine! He was crying and shaking beneath me as I reared up to tear apart his chest, driving my roaring voice through his bones and lung and heart, his eyes staring at me....
He looked at me with remorse.
Suddenly there was regret within me, a desire to turn back, wanting to recede back into the two embers of me he'd left behind and cry out and tell him I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't. The deed had been done. And soon he would be nothing but a charred skeleton, maybe not even that, just ashes that came from me like children. Like he was mine.
I'm so sorry, I tried to say. I swear. I was, I wanted to go back, but he kept crying and screaming and his parents had woken up, and they were staring at me. Scared for their son, burning, but too scared to get caught by me to help him. As if I could want anyone but Josiah.
Within the next few minutes, he was gone. Soon after, so was I.