This week's excerpt

Hey All,

Here is this week’s excerpt, chosen by Austin.

It’s the story The Murdered Tree, from my book Monsters.

I always hated “The Giving Tree” and this is my more realistic version of it.

Thank you,

Derrick

The Murdered Tree

Once there was a tree. She loved her forest home. She loved the bears and elk and salamanders and mosses and fungi and beetles and the birds who ate the beetles. She loved the humans who also called this forest home.

Then one day a little boy came into the forest. Like so many children of so many species, he climbed her trunk and played on her branches. And when he was tired, he slept in her shade. And like so many children of so many species, he gathered her leaves and played with them.

But here he was different.

Other children might have made them into boats to put in the stream, or shredded them into little strips and made pretty designs. Some even put them on their heads, like hats, for portable shade. This boy made them into crowns and said that he was king of the forest. This disturbed the tree. None of the other children said or did that. Why would anyone want to be king of the forest? What does being king of the forest even mean?

She tried to put that out of her mind, but she could not because he played this game every day. She told him she did not like him playing this game, but he did not seem to listen to her. He refused to hear what she said.

Instead he pretended she said, “You make me very happy.”

Sometimes the boy told the tree, “I love you very, very much,” and this tore at her heart wood. So many children of so many species said this to the tree, and when others said this it did make her very happy, and she loved them, too. But when the boy said it, it made the tree uncomfortable. The tree didn’t trust this little boy. She didn’t trust what love meant to him.

Time went by, and the boy grew older. He came to the forest less and less. Each time he returned, he said to the tree, “I’ll bet you were lonely without me.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. Why would she feel lonely when she was surrounded by all of her friends in the forest and all the sweet children who came to play?

She felt sorry for him. She wondered what was wrong with him that he played at being a king of the forest, and that he was so self-centered that he thought she’d be lonely when he wasn’t there. It was as though he believed that if one of her branches fell when he wasn’t around, no one would hear it! She thought he must feel very scared and inferior to act so self-important, so she tried to make him feel good. She said to him, “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”

“I am too big to climb and play,” said the boy. “I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?”

“I’m sorry,” said the tree, “but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. You, like everyone else, may take as many apples as you need to eat, and then you can spread the seeds all over the forest and make more trees. That’s what good little boys and girls of every species do: they help each other, and they feed each other. But, no, you cannot have my apples to sell to make money. That would be selfish. Don’t you want to be part of the forest?”

Because this little boy was selfish and did not like to help others, he pretended the tree did not say what she had said, but instead pretended he heard, “Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.”

Of course she would never say any such thing. As well as not wanting to give him the apples to sell, she knew that money did not lead to happiness. Everybody in the forest knew that.

The boy, who had just claimed he was too big to climb the tree to play, now climbed the tree and gathered her apples to carry away.

The boy told himself this made the tree happy.

The tree was furious. She tried to shake her branches and make him fall to the ground, but she could not get rid of him. In fact, he didn’t leave until he had collected as many apples as he could carry and left a pile on the ground for which he returned later.

After that the boy stayed away for a long time, and the tree was happy.

But one gray, cloudy day the boy came back. The tree shook with fury, saying, “I asked you not to take my apples and sell them in the city, and you stole them anyway. You took from the forest without giving back. I am sorry I ever invited you to climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy. Please go away.”

The boy said, “I’m too busy to climb trees anyway. Who needs that? I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and I want children, so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”

“The forest is my house,” said the tree, “as it is the house for so many others. My branches are a house for birds and insects and other little creatures of the forest. Why can’t you be happy with a forest house like the rest? What is wrong with you?”

But the boy did not hear this. Here is what he pretended he heard the tree say: “You may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.”

And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build a house.

The tree was in pain. She felt it in her trunk and in her consciousness. Her forest friends, who now had nowhere to live, also felt her pain—and their own. The birdds had no place to make their nests, the squirrels no place to chatter with each other, the deer no shade to sit in on a hot day.

The boy stayed away for a long time, and the tree was grateful. But she no longer described herself as happy. She was too traumatized for that. And it took a lot of energy to work at re-grow ing what he had taken from her. Also, each time someone new would come into the forest she would be afraid he or she would harm her, steal from her, and not listen to her when she said no. This was not how she’d been before. She was now prone to sudden furies. She would shake the stubs of her limbs and remember how she used to be before the horrid boy came into her life, before he disfigured her, before he violated her.

Again he came back. She was so terrified and angry she could not speak. She trembled with fear and anger.

The boy pretended he heard her whisper sweet invitations for him to come and play on what was left of her branches. It did not matter that she said nothing at all, and that she loathed him. He heard whatever he wanted to hear. What she wanted mattered nothing to him. What mattered was only what he wanted. Then he would pretend she wanted it, too. She said no. He pretended he heard yes.

This was how he was with everyone.

He said, “Thank you for your invitation to play in your limbs, but I’m too old and sad to play. I want a boat that will take me away from here. Can you give me a boat?”

The tree told him to go away and never come back. If she would have had arms and hands she would have strangled him. If she had legs she would have kicked him and run away. But she had none of these.

The boy pretended she had said, “Cut down my trunk and make a boat. Then you can sail away and be happy.”

She had never hated anyone so much in her entire long life.

The boy cut down her trunk, and made a boat and sailed away.

The tree was in agony. The forest was in mourning. Many of the birds and salamanders and mosses and insects who had lived near or in the tree were dying, too.

And still the boy was not happy.

The tree’s worst nightmare came true: the monstrous boy came back yet again. He could not stop violating her, even after he had cut her to the ground. The tree €”now a stump—was too weak and terrified to even be angry anymore. She said, bitterly, “You’ve stolen everything from me. I have nothing left for you to take. Just do what you’re going to do to me and then leave.”

Of course the boy did not hear her bitterness. He pretended her statement was a warm, welcoming invitation. He pretended she was sad that she could no longer offer him apples to eat or branches to climb on. He said, “I’m too old to eat apples or climb on branches. I’m too old to do much of anything but sit.”

He looked at what was left of her. She said, “No. No. I’m at the end of my life. Please just leave me alone. Do not pollute my last moments with your presence. Can you not even now understand how much I hate you?”

But this was not what he heard. He pretended she said, “An old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down and rest.”

He pretended this made the tree happy.

What Boy didn’t know was that not all of the animals in the forest had died when he cut down the tree. Nestled into the roots was an ancient timber rattlesnake, who had lived there since she was a tiny baby. Her whole life she had wanted to kill the boy and save her friends, but the only times he had ever come close enough to her she had been too young, with not enough venom. But she was old, now, and strong, and she could see the tendon in the back of his ankle.

She drew back her head, said a silent prayer that her aim would be true and her venom strong, and struck. She struck for all of her brothers and sisters, and she struck for the tree, and she struck because it was the right thing to do.