the weed and the tree

[alex77]

Please let me know what you think of this, whether it be good or bad.

Day 1


"Life is a chain of misfortunes that manifest themselves in circumstance, and are often repeated or exacerbated by chance. Whether it be providence or karma, one thing remains, it only gets worse, then better, so it can worsen some more, and then get worse again." A tall oak tree with a shade of decay spoke ceremoniously to his friend the little weed. A friendship that was the product of placement, and nothing more, as the tree would put it. The two had known each other for a short period of time, through a rainy May, and a blisteringly hot june. "You are very bitter, it is all in your attitude, you can see the glass as..." The Weed was cut short just as he began to speak, "I don't care if the glass is half empty, or half full, I don't like the taste of the water anyway."
"Well, then I suppose it's good you can't drink water from a glass," the weed giggled cheerfully. He knew he was baiting the tree, but enjoyed it nonetheless, and did so only out of enjoyment for a spirited discussion, and not out any kind of mark of a passive agressive nature." "Well, my young friend, you may have come up with the perfect analogy for the point I'm trying to get across to you. Glass half nothing, what have you, what water you get is either witheld from you, or forced upon you by sheer chance." The two were silent for a moment- the tree was quite impressed with his wordplay, and the weed was taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air.
"I suppose you can view it that way, or you can be thankful, and happy for what you get." The weed continued preaching his personal philosophy of keeping a good attitude, and being happy with what the sun gives you. The tree argued convulsively, at times swearing loudly, but kept the decor of a spirited debate. He never attacked the weed's integrity or intelligence. After this the two talked of yard politics, rumors and joked around a little.
"Have you noticed that the children have not come out to play as they usually do?" the weed asked. "No," the tree responded raptly, "and I don't care. They kick things around, make a ruckus, all that nonsense. I swear those sons of lumberjacks are all going to be the death of me."
"Don't be so foolish. They mean no one any harm. They just play happily and don't have an ill wish for anyone. That's the way you should be."
"I don't think I can listen to you anymore. My branches hurt and your nonsense is distracting me from my one true joy- the cool evening breeze. I wish my roots weren't underground so they could feel it. Now, just be quiet you prickly little..."
"Please don't," the weed interrupted in a persistant, and yet meek tone. "If that's how you are going to be I'll not bother you 'til tomorrow. Good day, sir."

Day 2

The morning came and went. The insatiable sunlight warmed the dewey, mountain air. The overgrown grass and prickly weeds sang praises to the sun for hours on end, as the tree looked toward the magnificent mountains to the west. Near midafternoon, the weed finally spoke to his gigantic friend, "Please tell me why you won't join us for community and worship, my friend?"
"Ha! I prefer to keep to real things. Not worshipping some ambivalent prescense dozens of miles up in the sky."
"What is it about the grace of the sun that bothers you?" The weed asked frightfully. "You don't need shelter from the warmth of community, and freedom from the light of faith."
"Faith?" The tree snapped, "your far too young to have any idea what your talking about."
"Am I?" The weed asked resolutely. "I remember when I was young, I felt as you do now. Life was simple, and yet confusing; carefree, but still troublesome. I knew of the goodness of faith rooted inside of me, but also had that feeling of existential uncertainy about life. My roots were planted firmly in the ground, my head in the clouds, and my heart stuck in a sea of opposing currents of meaning and absurdity, pushing me towards the coast and pulling me away."
Neither the weed, nor the tree spoke for a few moments. A question pulsated in the silence between the two, and the weed sensed it. "I'm talking about faith in there being a purpose for all of us, as individuals, and as a whole. By the grace and love of the sun. You might be happy if you stopped worrying about yourself, and lived for others. You'd also do good to remember that the currents won't drown you, and the shore is never as far away as it seems."

"Oh, but what about when there is nobody else? I've seen weeds come and go, like the changing of the seasons, and I'll let you know that going is the only real certainy. I've seen the grace of the sun on the hottest spring morning melting away the snow. But I've also felt his abscence, when I've been stripped of all my leaves, and I fall terrbily ill. Just after this happens, for no good reason at all, the air becomes frigid and snow begins to fall. The sun remains an unassuming spectator towards the misery. The light counts for nothing when the harsh realities of the world bare down on you."
"I understand how you feel. Do you feel scared of the that time of year?"
The tree looked towards the mountains, "No, but I won't lie, I do feel a little anxious when the thought of it pops into my head."
"I also know that feeling. It's a humbling kind of anxiety that I've sometimes felt. The apathy of not letting go of fear, but letting it rest. Not abandoning hope, but sheltering it until a new light can be revealed. Anxiety feeds off of hope that seems distant and almost unattainable. Without it, anxiety would be nothing more than despair."
The tree thought deeply while switching his gaze from the mountains down to the weed. "I think your right about that. But lets change the subject."
"Good idea," the weed lightened his tone, but stayed on the same track. "Please tell me, do you have any goals?"
"Well, this is more of a wish than a goal, or even kind of a fantasy. One day I would love to be moved up to the mountains so I can see the world from their heights."
"That's a great goal. I would set about to pray to the sun, in the morning when he is at his strongest, and also at night as he rests. But also keep in mind, you should be grateful for what you have. From where I am, I can't see past the fence. I'm unable to even see these mountains you speak of, even though I trust that they are there. Instead I am happy to see this symmetrical work of beauty, this perfect fence that protects us from the outside world. I'm thankful I get to see this fence, and all the other pleasant realities of this wonderful yard."
The two talked well into the night, the weed slowly winning over the tree's bitterness. If he had realized the transformation that was taking place the tree surely would have been upset. But the biggest changes that take place in a person, or a tree for that matter, happen so slowly, and so subtley that we don't realize them until long after the fact.

Day 3

The next day the sun rose after a terribly windy night. A calm terror remained in the yard for hours after day break.
"Are you alright? My branches hurt like nothing else. For a little while I thought you were a goner."
The weed spoke softly, with a hint of pain in his voice, "Yes, I'm ok. It was a little bit of a scare, but I knew I'd be alright."
"Well, I was worried about you, that's all. I've enjoyed talking to you, especially these past couple of days. Toward the end of the night, when the wind was blowing at it's worst, I felt something I haven't felt in years. At that moment I knew everything was going to be alright, despite what was going on. I knew the sun would rise once more. I feel like you've restored my faith."
The two chatted and laughed together for a few hours. At about three in the afternoon a little boy, who was perhaps eleven years old, came outside from the house. He ran about the yard, looking at everything as if it were new to him, with a look of joyous bewilderment on his face. Shortly thereafter, the father of the boy, a balding middle aged man, came outside with an ice cold beer in his hand.
"Do you see that little boy?" The weed asked. "You see how happy he is? He is so innocent and would never seek to harm anyone. That is what we should strive to preserve in ourselves, that youthful joy, the faithful simplicity of spirit."
"I think your right," the tree replied, gazing down at fence right behind him.
"Hey boy," the old man yelled out, "enough horsing around. Get this yard cleaned up."
Just then the little boy ran up to them, stopped, and then kneeled down as if he were about to pray in front of the weed. With a joyous smile, he ripped the weed from the ground, sending rocks askew, playfully and happily; maiming and killing, destroying dreams and sending what exists into nothingness in his soft hand. The tree watched in horror at the gentle brutality that was taking place.
After that day the tree never spoke to any plant ever again. Just several months later the tree was pulled from the ground and killed by a group of men. He never knew why, but it is rumored that the family had wanted a nice view of the mountains when they sat out on their back patio on sunny summer days.

[hillwalker]

I'm sorry but in my opinion it be bad...

I’m not especially fond of fables where animals or vegetation take on human characteristics – what’s the point? It’s obviously make-believe and it has all been done before countless times. There's no market for stuff like this in the mainstream - and it's obviously not aimed at kindergartners. So once I realised what kind of story this was I ended up skimming through it - and by the end I couldn’t see the point you were trying to make.

Even the lamest fables have some kind of moral to pass on but here there is nothing much to ponder over so I’m left wondering why you wasted your talents (you write well enough – typos aside) on such a feeble story.

This may seem harsh but I was perplexed by how one might put so much effort into saying so little.

H

[cyberbob]

I think it be bad too. The problem with trying to write things that are deep or witty or clever or funny or wise (in this case deep/wise), versus just writing narrative, is that if they don't produce their intended effect right away the whole thing just gets deflated and the reader doesn't feel like continuing to read.

Also, what is the point of making them plants? If you wanted to you could've re-worked the details so it would make sense with humans and still keep the general message in there.

I can't think of any examples of fiction with anthropomorphized plants, but in the case of anthropomorphic animals, there are two main reasons why I could see it serving any purpose.

One would be just for fun, as in the case of The Jungle Books. Animals in the jungle provide unique scenery and situations that can make for an interesting and entertaining adventure. This is usually at least partially intended for kids.

The second reason would be to use a thing that most people are familiar with and can relate to to explain or comment on a complicated topic. The example I'm thinking of is Animal Farm. In that story, Orwell used a simpler, smaller-scale situation to depict the corruption of the Soviet Union. His message was quite clear and easy to understand.

In the case of your story, however, I don't see exactly what you're trying to say. Nor do I understand the point of using plants when the story would be almost exactly the same with humans.

Take a typical Twilight Zone episode for example: They usually contain some hokey moral or social commentary at the end, but the aliens or whatever still provide an entertaining episode. To Serve Man could not be To Serve Man without aliens. On the other hand, the plants in your story do nothing but make your job as a writer easier because you don't have to find a more appropriate way to tell the story in order to give your message.

[alex77]

Thank you for giving me feedback on my story. What I was trying to say with it, which I didn't do a good job with, was that life is really uncertain- meaningful and meaningless at the exact same time. I chose plants because I wrote he whole story for the ending, and also because it was much easier for me than writing about people. I wanted to get across how I felt at the time I wrote this- that keeping a good attitude and finding meaning in life is obviously very important. But at the same time there is an existential indifference that goes along side with that; a feeling that good intentions may count for nothing. But again, thanks for taking the time to read this. I'm gonig to try to write a new story, keep the idea behind it, but make it more entertaining.

[AuntShecky]

The problem with this is not so much the anthromorphism --from Aesop on, Western culture has been given several works of art which use the device effectively. In many contemporary cases, the characters which take on human traits might not even come from Nature, and may even be totally inaminate man-made objects, i.e. Pixar's Wall-E (we'll ignore Cars and its sequel for now.)

No, the problem is that if an writer is going to make creatures (or objects) seem human, then he ought to make sure his characters actually sound human. The characters in your story may "talk," but they don't really talk like any humans I know. Their speech is really stilted, as if they were playing roles in an extremely pretentious stage play. Not even college philosophy majors (if any still exist) sound like this. The topics your characters choose to ponder and comment upon are so abstract that they bear little or no correlation with real life, as it's lived from day to day.

That's the key to making this particular piece "good" or "bad." No matter what
realm your characters originate from, their literary appearance should show
some life.

For what it's worth, my advice to you is to hold off on writing about the
Heavy Questions for a while and instead bite off smaller pieces to chew upon.
While you're practicing writing, it might be a good idea to read copious amounts of contemporary fiction, both online and from some good anthologies to be found in your public library.

Also, you could try out this link, just for laughs:
http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=41000

Hope you post another story sometime. If so, my aging eyes would appreciate it if you would skip a space between paragraphs.

Auntie

P.S. Be obsessive about proofreading. Sweep it for typos and spelling errors. (Use a dictionary; don't exclusively rely on Spell-Check. Correct careless pronoun mistakes, such as writing "your" when you mean "you're." Double check the grammar. Keep going over your story until you can't stand looking at it anymore.

Then do it one more time.