Volya
11-11-2012, 06:11 PM
I woke up in a field in the middle of nowhere. And there beside me was an old man sitting on the grass, staring intently at a willow tree that bordered a fast-flowing creek a few dozen feet from where I was lying. I stood up walked to him, he didn’t look up. Just kept on sitting there, staring at the willow tree. I sat down. The two of us sat there, looking at the willow tree. Every so often I would turn my head, check if he was still looking, and he always was.
After a while, I just stopped bothering to check, and my gaze became focused entirely on the tree. It was an old tree, I could see that. Its long branches dangled almost lazily into the water, where little minnows darted in and out between it’s leaves. There were two squirrels scurrying up and down the willow’s trunk, scampering about like a pair of kids. A family of rabbits had made their warren under the roots of the tree, one of them poking their little noses out every once in a while, before darting nervously back in when one of the squirrels came nearer. Sitting there, looking at that tree, I began to experience a feeling of serenity, and peace of mind. This willow tree, despite being so old and magnificent, it co-existed in harmony with life; the minnows, the squirrels, the rabbits. They all lived by the bank of the creek, together.
Next to me, the man began to stir. Getting to his feet, he began walking over to the tree, his footsteps rustling the long grass. I got up and followed him, curious as to what would happen next. He arrived at the tree, and placed one hand on its rough bark.
‘It’s me again, my friend’ he said softly. Then, reaching up with one hand, he began to climb the old willow. I looked up in wonder, as he ascended with the agility of the squirrels that frolicked among the branches. They didn’t seem to mind his presence, just as the tree did not seem to mind the presence of the rabbits.
The old man stopped by a sturdy branch that hung out over the river. He took hold of a bundle of vines that draped into the water, and began entwining them round and round each other. My eyes were mesmerized by the activities of the man, paying no heed to anything but him. The vines eventually formed a single rope-like strand, which he took in his hand and began to tie round his neck. When it dawned upon me what he was about to do, I began to yell and shout at him, trying to persuade him back down. But to no avail. He turned to look at me for the first time, gave a smile, then fell from the branch. The vines were wrapped tightly around his neck, and he died instantly. I fell to my knees, aghast at what I had just witnessed; not only the horror of the mans death, but the fact that his death had defiled the atmosphere of tranquility that had pervaded the willow tree.
I knelt there, staring at his body until the sun began to set. It was just as the last rays began to dip below the horizon that a crow flew over to the man, and settled on his shoulder. It squinted with its beady eyes at the lifeless face, before giving a jab with it’s beak and tearing the man’s flesh. As it drew first blood, another crow descended upon the man, then another, and more, until what was once the man’s body became a dark, feathered mass.
When the sun had fully vanished, the crows departed. There was nothing left but the vines the man had used, which were beginning to unravel and rest in the creek once more. The squirrels scampered down the tree and away into the field, the rabbits tucked away into their nest, and the minnows were still. The willow tree gave one last sigh as the wind rustled through, and then, everything went dark.
I awoke the next day, in the same field. The old man was sitting there again, staring at the same willow, that was planted beside the same creek. With the same minnows, squirrels and rabbits that had been there the day before. I questioned the man as to what had happened, but he didn’t respond. I sat there again. The exact same events happened.
It has been twelve days now by my count, and every single day the same thing has happened. Maybe today will be different.
After a while, I just stopped bothering to check, and my gaze became focused entirely on the tree. It was an old tree, I could see that. Its long branches dangled almost lazily into the water, where little minnows darted in and out between it’s leaves. There were two squirrels scurrying up and down the willow’s trunk, scampering about like a pair of kids. A family of rabbits had made their warren under the roots of the tree, one of them poking their little noses out every once in a while, before darting nervously back in when one of the squirrels came nearer. Sitting there, looking at that tree, I began to experience a feeling of serenity, and peace of mind. This willow tree, despite being so old and magnificent, it co-existed in harmony with life; the minnows, the squirrels, the rabbits. They all lived by the bank of the creek, together.
Next to me, the man began to stir. Getting to his feet, he began walking over to the tree, his footsteps rustling the long grass. I got up and followed him, curious as to what would happen next. He arrived at the tree, and placed one hand on its rough bark.
‘It’s me again, my friend’ he said softly. Then, reaching up with one hand, he began to climb the old willow. I looked up in wonder, as he ascended with the agility of the squirrels that frolicked among the branches. They didn’t seem to mind his presence, just as the tree did not seem to mind the presence of the rabbits.
The old man stopped by a sturdy branch that hung out over the river. He took hold of a bundle of vines that draped into the water, and began entwining them round and round each other. My eyes were mesmerized by the activities of the man, paying no heed to anything but him. The vines eventually formed a single rope-like strand, which he took in his hand and began to tie round his neck. When it dawned upon me what he was about to do, I began to yell and shout at him, trying to persuade him back down. But to no avail. He turned to look at me for the first time, gave a smile, then fell from the branch. The vines were wrapped tightly around his neck, and he died instantly. I fell to my knees, aghast at what I had just witnessed; not only the horror of the mans death, but the fact that his death had defiled the atmosphere of tranquility that had pervaded the willow tree.
I knelt there, staring at his body until the sun began to set. It was just as the last rays began to dip below the horizon that a crow flew over to the man, and settled on his shoulder. It squinted with its beady eyes at the lifeless face, before giving a jab with it’s beak and tearing the man’s flesh. As it drew first blood, another crow descended upon the man, then another, and more, until what was once the man’s body became a dark, feathered mass.
When the sun had fully vanished, the crows departed. There was nothing left but the vines the man had used, which were beginning to unravel and rest in the creek once more. The squirrels scampered down the tree and away into the field, the rabbits tucked away into their nest, and the minnows were still. The willow tree gave one last sigh as the wind rustled through, and then, everything went dark.
I awoke the next day, in the same field. The old man was sitting there again, staring at the same willow, that was planted beside the same creek. With the same minnows, squirrels and rabbits that had been there the day before. I questioned the man as to what had happened, but he didn’t respond. I sat there again. The exact same events happened.
It has been twelve days now by my count, and every single day the same thing has happened. Maybe today will be different.