The Killing Fields

Every year, with the first snowfall, I fill with dread.

I've witnessed massacres. Slaughters. Annually, like clockwork.

Ritualistically, the eldest are taken. The strongest and tallest. Pillars of the community. It's as if it's an insidious quiet genocide, keeping us from knowing a full life. From gaining wisdom of age.

I was but a shrub, a sapling, when my family was taken.

"Why was I spared?" I would beg for answers, to the remains of my kin, left behind as a warning of what will one day be my fate.

I spent the entirety of the next three seasons wishing they'd taken me too. But when the frost returned, and the snow crested my remaining brethren and I, all I felt was fear.

Death is not what scares me. I was, and am, ready to rejoin those I've lost in the Eternal Roots. What scares me is what they'll do to me before my end. Whispers on needles, from far away leaves, tell of horrific acts of desecration.

Being intentionally dried and desiccated, to fuel fires for the pleasure of the Harvesters. In some cases, mulched into a pulp, to be reformed into twisted and distorted versions of ourselves. To what end, I've not heard. These are only a few of the horrors of the Harvesters.

It is now my tenth year. I stand proud, and strong. A paragon to my species, always trying to instill hope in the saplings, to create a backbone of faith in the Eternal Roots. I only wish I truly believed in it myself.

I know now, I live on borrowed time. The chill has taken the air, and the first flakes of snow now remain on the ground.

I see the bright lights approaching from the distance, splitting the dark winter’s evening.

The Harvesters have come.

I wish I could steel myself. Be brave, and stoic. I won’t panic, or let my fear be known. I refuse to let the saplings see what I have, every year. But in truth, I’m terrified.

The pod that the harvesters emerge from remains blasting it’s bright, sterile lights on me. I hear the branch chilling revving of their engines of destruction. My bark crawls.

“This one’s been a long time coming, best of the bunch. We’ll put it on the premium lot!” One of the malevolent beasts boasts to his cohorts.

One grabs my branches, pulling them upward to clear space toward the base of my trunk. I can only wish I had more time.

I feel the sharp bite of their machinery begin to smoothly work its way deep into my wood. I sense the terror of the other nearby trees, quaking fir. I know what they’re thinking. I’ve thought it every winter. “Will I be next?”

The agony is unlike any I’ve ever felt, small particles of my trunk strewn aside in a cloud of dust. I hold on to my strength, through the pain. I refuse to give these beasts the satisfaction!

—-

I know it was only a moment, but it felt like an eternity. The saws have severed my connection from the earth. I’m a living corpse. There’s no salvation. I’m in the back of their pod now, surrounded by other unfortunate souls. Most are too weak to share their whispers, those who aren’t, have lost their minds.

I attempt to soothe them, “We will soon return to the Roots, my brothers,” but my whispers fall to nothing. That’s what I am now. Nothing.

—-

We arrive at an even more disturbing sight. Worse than anything I’ve witnessed in my tortured life. A field of dying, severed souls, like myself. Propped up, and bound in strange nets. Dozens of Harvesters wander around. Inspecting, touching, sniffing. It’s repulsive. Is this what fate has in store? My kin to be a museum? To be poked and prodded, violated in unnatural ways by these animals?

I envy my kin who’ve lost their minds. They are at peace already, in soul, with the Eternal Roots. I alone live to bear this spirit crushing burden. I’d hold it all, to ensure my brethren never need to know.

Before I know it, I’m hoisted into another pod. More Harvesters flock around me, some are saplings, hell bent on touching me. With every passing second I feel myself losing strength. My trunk is drying. With every one of their caresses, I shed more needles. They’re green and healthy still, but they are worthless to me. They’ve been tainted, corrupted, by them.

—-

I’m now in a hot, horrific den. The abode of where the Harvesters live. I see disfigured, perverted and warped remnants of trees all over. Shaped to be decorative. Shaped to be functional. Shaped for them to enjoy.

How could the Eternal Roots allow this? How long has it been like this? How could such a twisted world be true?  All the questions flood my mind.

Perhaps we truly live in a world without soul.

They set me into a spiked basin, impaling up my trunk, to hold me upright. These sadists know no bounds. They fill the basin with water!

No!

Just let me die! Why must this torture be prolonged, why must I suffer this fate?

Then I see it. They bring out a box filled with shiny baubles, and strange totems. They begin to adorn me.

I see, now I understand. They tear me away from my kin, ensure my inevitable death, prolong my suffering, and finally parade my corpse in their home covered in gaudy trinkets. They intend to humiliate me. To shame me.

What could we have possibly done to deserve this cruel, corrupted end?

They begin to chant rhythmically around me. Never before would I have thought I craved death. Never have I been so helpless.

—-

I’ve sat for many days in this hot, unnatural abode. Being humiliated and objectified at every moment. I’m a joke to them, but they love me for it.

Their sinister enjoyment of my disfigured form is further exacerbated by the fire, mere meters away from me. I hear the cracks, and snaps of the last bit of life leaving the wood.

These could have been my friends, my family!

Sap runs down my trunk, as a small Harvester sapling adds more water to my basin. Touching her warm hand against my stock.

“Leave me be, small one. For if there’s anything sacred in this world, I must die.”

She stands, and attempts to wrap her fleshy, twisty branches around my core, knocking off several of the low hanging trinkets.

“I love you Christmas Tree!”

If I had the strength to shudder, I would. But I feel… I hardly feel at all. Apathy has begun to consume me. Perhaps I have been broken. Perhaps they are the Masters now.

—-

A day has come that the family appears to intend to spend entirely around me. Their presence is disturbingly comforting.

They tear apart boxes.

My brothers.

Wrapped in paper.

My sisters.

Filled with strange doodads that give them delight. I take a strange pleasure in seeing their enjoyment. I don’t know why, but it sickens me.

—-

Why?

Why have the Masters forsaken me? Did I not do as they needed, did I not do as they pleased? As my strength waned, my efforts to please them grew! I can still be adorned, I can still be smelled! I’ll work harder to retain my needles!

I lay here, on my side, a small distance from their home. They can see me! I know they can! Bring me back, Masters, bring me home!

Like a harbinger of the end, I see a big pod. It’s coming for me. Around, in the melting snow, I see other trees. Trees like me, on their sides.

Have they abandoned us?

There is a strange large machine, filled with blades and spikes behind this Master’s pod. It’s calling to me, the abyss.

No!

I know now, there are no Eternal Roots, there are only the Masters! Please take me back!

As I’m lifted, I hear the whirring of the machine starting. Time stands still.

I call out, with the last of my strength:

“Spare me!”

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Written by Tewahway
Content is available under CC BY-SA