Brandon and the Stick

The smell was burnt rain and the sound was ringing, accompanied by the dull roar of thunder far off in the distance. Spears of light shot through the forest, and shimmering droplets pattered against the large leaves on their way to the bed of pine needles below. Petrified from the moments of chaos, the bravest bird began singing cautiously in the still, moist air. It might have been the scorched earth between opposing trenches. Or, perhaps it was Eden. Brandon couldn't be sure. He did not want to look. He tried to, then failed. Suddenly, it was his only passion.

His eyelids were too heavy; an anchor woven to every lash. Nothing.

He clenched his fist and a tuft of dirt and needles accumulated loosely between his fingers. It was delightfully cool, wet, and prickly.

He wiggled his toes and felt his sandals. Relief.

He hummed, and a weak cracking tone escaped from his lips. All there but one.

With great effort he elevated his arms. They ascended like powerful twigs and he brought his knuckles to his eyes. The bright sun was welcome pain, and he squinted forcefully against the wicked brilliance. Sight. He had them all.

What faint senses they were would be his escape or his torture; that thought bothered him. Either way, he somehow knew it was best that he had them.

Through the blurry small crack he analyzed his tattered, drenched clothes hanging off of him. He knew it had not been minutes, but days. Maybe longer. He found his rib cage. Yes, it was longer. Leaning back he saw the splintered fresh crack above him. The enormous tree had been ripped in two. Zeus himself might as well have brought his ax from the sky clean down to the top of his head. The wood smoldered, as did his stocking cap, which he removed and smacked against the ground to salvage.

The welcome sensation of dirt and leather elevated to tingling and then pain. It became excruciating. He had thanked the shock for awakening him, but what good could have it done? Could it bring him out of this place? Even still, how had he arrived? He was confused and uncomfortable. He only knew he needed to get out, somehow.

He focused on the beauty of the forest, the robust flowers and exotic birds. Better. He closed his eyes again and focused on his favorite place. For a moment he was relieved, but then the burns came alive, searing his flesh.

Perhaps he was best left comatose. Through the waves of agony he asked himself that question. Was he to waste away in peace or die suffering? He wished for sweet peace to return. His wish became all-consuming.

Suddenly his eyes became wide and his pain tolerable. At once he knew who he was again, why he had come, and what had brought him there. He remembered what had exhausted him, and why he had fallen to sleep.

It was the stick...

It protruded from the top of a giant boulder in front of him. It was beautiful and mysterious. It wasn't actually a stick, rather a little Banzai tree. It had a few little branches and some green needles. Its roots somehow gathered enough nutrients from the lichen on the rocky surface to survive. It looked like a stick at first glance, so that was the word that popped in his mind when he saw it again. It was certainly more than a stick, or a simple Banzai tree for that matter.

This was why he had come, the cause of all curiosity, life's persistent distraction. A stirring welled inside of him, overpowering the pain. He stood and slowly approached its tiny twisted branches.

"You!"

"You did this to me."

"It wasn't me, Brandon. I'm a tree, and an insignificant one at that. You have done this to yourself."

"And just how does a talking tree pretend to be insignificant?"

"Brandon. Think carefully about what you just said."

"You put me to sleep just to awaken me with a lightning bolt. What am I to you, entertainment?"

"I don't do much else but stand here. Sometimes I sway. I can't put you to sleep, and I certainly can't summon a lightning bold. Trust me, I've tried."

"But you revealed so much to me. How could you say that."

"I only revealed what you already knew, or rather, what you would eventually figure out anyway. I think it knocked you out. That's when you took your extended nap under the tallest tree in the forest. Idiot. It was bound to get struck sooner or later."

"Tell me more. I must know more."

"Since I haven't revealed anything, I certainly can't reveal more. Brandon, I'm a tree. Sometimes I drop a needle onto the ground. You don't need my help."

"You're bluffing. Cooperate, or I'm going to tell everyone what you've told me."

"These are not secrets. And go ahead, tell whoever you want. You'll find many questions can only be answered if they are asked. When you came here you asked the right questions. That was all you needed to do. You were capable of answering them all yourself. Now, go home. I'm busy."

"Busy doing what? You're a tree."

"Now you're starting to make some sense. Yes, when I'm not solving the worlds problems sometimes I sway back and forth, and occasionally I drop a needle on the ground. I'm going to be silent now so you can go back to second-guessing yourself."

Brandon watched the stick. It indeed went silent. As the woods grew dark into the evening he tried to provoke it. He tried singing, tickling, calling it names. It stood obstinately, taunting him through the night. Finally, he slouched and fell back against the shattered tree. Somehow all he had discovered seemed useless. He needed more, and knew the stick was the only thing capable of giving it to him. He began to sob. Realizing the absurdity of it all, he decided the talking tree was probably a figment of his imagination.

"How is that possible?" As dawn approached, ashamed of himself, he decided he must be losing his mind. Holding his wounds, he decided it was true; "I am certifiably crazy."

"What good is the tree's supreme knowledge if there was no tree at all? Worse, if the tree was right, and I already knew the answer to all my questions, how can I possibly know they are correct? After all, I'm just some loon who likes to talk to trees!" Brandon resolved to never have a conversation with an inanimate object again.

Suddenly, the Banzai uprooted, stood poised for a moment, and adeptly performed a twelve-toed tap dancing routine. This was not good. Brandon closed his eyes tightly. He covered his ears. He shook his head. It was not real! It was a banzai tree! He could not watch. It would destroy him. Yet, as much as he tried to ignore it, having deafened his senses, the delicate roots could still be felt subtly bouncing gleefully against the forest floor. There was simply no doubt about it...the tree was still there. He struggled against the corners of his mouth, which began to rise. He pushed his eyebrows back to their usual place. But, it was no use. It was the gentle thud of the makeshift cane that did it. His meditation broke, shattered to bits. He opened his eyes and covered his mouth, chuckling at the absolute insanity in front of him, smiling broadly. He was doomed, and it never felt so good.