Short Story : Under The Tree
He deserved to die.
She’d spent most of an evening back in November digging the hole in her garden, making sure nobody knew what she was doing until she’d finished. The hole wasn’t as deep as she’d have liked, and definitely not as wide, but she’d put good use to her secateurs to ensure that the cloth sack would fit. Filling the hole back in was just as much hard work, but eventually she was done. A long shower was taken after that back breaking work, followed by a night of constantly interrupted sleep.
By December, she started to notice the shoots coming up from the ground where she’d buried the sack. Mostly they were green, but she was sure that some of them were tinged with red. She didn’t like the look of them, but she ignored them.
By April, the starting of a tree had begun to grow in the garden. She couldn’t understand what could have happened. She hadn’t planted anything there, nothing but...
She had turned from the kitchen window, telling herself that it was nothing, and that what was happening in her garden was perfectly normal. But it wasn’t.
By August, the tree had already grown to three feet. Three feet in nine months? It didn’t seem possible to her. People had finally stopped talking about his mysterious disappearance, how he’d walked out on her last Autumn, but now she was faced with this waist high reminder, right there, where she’d put him. Whenever she did the dishes after dinner, breakfast, lunch, she could see the tree out there, taunting her with its branches, like hands waving mockingly at her.
It was November, a full year after she’d dug the hole, and the tree was now towering above her. Its trunk was thick and strong, and its leaves were somehow still in bloom, despite it being Autumn once again, and she was starting to panic. What if people noticed, she asked herself. What if people questioned such a quick growing tree? No-one had mentioned it so far, but paranoia is a wonderful thing.
She continued to watch the tree from her kitchen window, watching the leaves billow in the breeze. She hadn’t cleaned any dishes in three months, choosing to leave them in the sink and just buy paper plates instead. Or eat takeaway. Anything to avoid that window and its view of the tree. Yet every day she found herself inexplicably drawn back to that vantage point, watching as the tree continued its taunts. Finally, she came to a decision.
She bought an axe from the hardware store, wrapped in paper, carrying it home in her shopping trolley. She parked the trolley next to the tree when she arrived home, removing the paper from the axe and flexing her fingers over the grip. Taking a stance and feeling her toes gripping the earth through her shoes, she took her first tentative swing. The axe hit the trunk of the tree, digging deeply into the bark, and she struggled to pull it free to take a second swing. Once she’d freed the axe, she glanced at the tree.
A thick crimson liquid was flowing from the cut she’d just inflicted on the tree. In the fading afternoon light it looked like it could be...
No, that would be silly.
She looked more carefully at the tree, noticing for the first time a faint pattern in the whorls of the wood. Was that a... a face?
His face?!
Panicking anew, she took another swing of the axe, this time burying it in the face she thought she’d seen in the bark of the tree. Placing her foot against the trunk, she pulled the axe out and swung again.
And again.
And again.
After what seemed like forever, she had managed to chop halfway through the tree, and it was starting to creak. She looked up into the leaves, most of them now red, and watched as the tree tumbled towards her. Crushing her beneath their weight and killing her instantly.
Even in the end, he’d won.
Originally Posted 23/12/2014
Result - 2nd Place
She’d spent most of an evening back in November digging the hole in her garden, making sure nobody knew what she was doing until she’d finished. The hole wasn’t as deep as she’d have liked, and definitely not as wide, but she’d put good use to her secateurs to ensure that the cloth sack would fit. Filling the hole back in was just as much hard work, but eventually she was done. A long shower was taken after that back breaking work, followed by a night of constantly interrupted sleep.
By December, she started to notice the shoots coming up from the ground where she’d buried the sack. Mostly they were green, but she was sure that some of them were tinged with red. She didn’t like the look of them, but she ignored them.
By April, the starting of a tree had begun to grow in the garden. She couldn’t understand what could have happened. She hadn’t planted anything there, nothing but...
She had turned from the kitchen window, telling herself that it was nothing, and that what was happening in her garden was perfectly normal. But it wasn’t.
By August, the tree had already grown to three feet. Three feet in nine months? It didn’t seem possible to her. People had finally stopped talking about his mysterious disappearance, how he’d walked out on her last Autumn, but now she was faced with this waist high reminder, right there, where she’d put him. Whenever she did the dishes after dinner, breakfast, lunch, she could see the tree out there, taunting her with its branches, like hands waving mockingly at her.
It was November, a full year after she’d dug the hole, and the tree was now towering above her. Its trunk was thick and strong, and its leaves were somehow still in bloom, despite it being Autumn once again, and she was starting to panic. What if people noticed, she asked herself. What if people questioned such a quick growing tree? No-one had mentioned it so far, but paranoia is a wonderful thing.
She continued to watch the tree from her kitchen window, watching the leaves billow in the breeze. She hadn’t cleaned any dishes in three months, choosing to leave them in the sink and just buy paper plates instead. Or eat takeaway. Anything to avoid that window and its view of the tree. Yet every day she found herself inexplicably drawn back to that vantage point, watching as the tree continued its taunts. Finally, she came to a decision.
She bought an axe from the hardware store, wrapped in paper, carrying it home in her shopping trolley. She parked the trolley next to the tree when she arrived home, removing the paper from the axe and flexing her fingers over the grip. Taking a stance and feeling her toes gripping the earth through her shoes, she took her first tentative swing. The axe hit the trunk of the tree, digging deeply into the bark, and she struggled to pull it free to take a second swing. Once she’d freed the axe, she glanced at the tree.
A thick crimson liquid was flowing from the cut she’d just inflicted on the tree. In the fading afternoon light it looked like it could be...
No, that would be silly.
She looked more carefully at the tree, noticing for the first time a faint pattern in the whorls of the wood. Was that a... a face?
His face?!
Panicking anew, she took another swing of the axe, this time burying it in the face she thought she’d seen in the bark of the tree. Placing her foot against the trunk, she pulled the axe out and swung again.
And again.
And again.
After what seemed like forever, she had managed to chop halfway through the tree, and it was starting to creak. She looked up into the leaves, most of them now red, and watched as the tree tumbled towards her. Crushing her beneath their weight and killing her instantly.
Even in the end, he’d won.
Originally Posted 23/12/2014
Result - 2nd Place
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