Discovering the Alien in Front of Us
I write fantasy right. A few years ago an article started me thinking about trees and forests, and how they communicate. Their social interaction became a fascinating subject as I dug into it. Ideas popped and I wrote a short story to help remember the premise and where it would possibly lead. A have recently picked it back up, adding a few scenes and expanding on the idea. This is an excerpt from the work-in-progress.
A Piece of ‘The Forest’
The creature appeared as it always did, different every time, but with the same deep, dark eyes. This time it was a squirrel, larger than normal squirrels and shiny black. It sat on a fallen tree, waiting for him to notice. When Clay made eye contact, it scampered along the trunk of the fallen tree toward the exposed root. He raked his hair out of his eyes as his short frame labored over the tree trunk, sweat running down his back. He saw a faint trail running slightly uphill. Nothing looked familiar, but that was normal in this forest as everything changed depending on how you entered and what you were seeking. Luckily, the forest, for a short time, would allow him to seek El without knowing his cousin’s reasons for breaking his word.
A shiny black flash, maybe a tail, told him he was moving in the right direction. The glimpses of the mountain to the north became fewer as the canopy closed, darkening everything and cooling him off.
The forest was older than the mountains it had overgrown. It started eons ago by surrounding the bases of the ancient range, and had slowly consumed each peak as it was worn by time. The trail ran along a small ridge paralleling a little stream.
He heard rustling in the brush close to the water as a stag raised his head, tilting it slightly, seeming puzzled by the sight of a pudgy little human in his forest. A breeze rattling through the upper branches never touched the forest floor, but joined the soft sound of water over rocks and provided a kind of background white noise.
Clay stopped at a fork in the trail, catching his breath, unsure which way to go. He heard a chittering down the fork leading across the stream, but he waited to see the squirrel. The forest could be fickle with its permission and caution was usually rewarded, just as recklessness was punished. A moment later a rustling of maple leaves as the black squirrel dropped from the upper parts of a tree to appear on the ridge trail. Forest twilight thickened as more and more light was choked off by the canopy above.
He heard the low hum a few minutes before he found the clearing. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, the dull, black obelisk was there, standing in the center of a circular depression. Lavender and grasses surrounded it, rustling in the light breeze. The sun’s warmth felt good after the cool of the forest. The scented meadow, full of wildflowers and busy insects, was pleasant as he crossed to stand beside El.
Clay handed El a shirt and removed his jacket, trying to forestall the sweat down his back. They stood for a moment, looking at the light-absorbing, black shard stabbed into a white slab. The two eye level glyphs were etched in bright red, as always, and Clay was sure there were two more on each of the other two sides. The cleansing hum never got any louder, just seemed to penetrate deeper the closer you came. Two mallets lay on the white slab beside the obelisk.
A Work in Progress
It is tough to let go of a story, to stop the inner judge and leave it (which is why writers have editors). Every time I read something I wrote, I think it would be better if I said this here or deleted part of this. Constantly seeing from a different set of eyes, each of us change from moment to moment. The new me sees things the past me missed, and loses the perspective the me of the past had so in focus.
What was I thinking? This excerpt is a glimpse into the past me, and will evovle into a book, with the future me, my editor, and time.
