Experimental Short: The Mother Tree

The Great Old Oak, ancient gnarled trunk, twisting limbs, so tall and strong, was the one true God to many. No food did it bear, unlike its kin, but life was its fruit, as it held up the sky that would otherwise fall.

Many would come and pray at the tree, both deity and temple and mother. Dreams would be made, wishes would be cast, the faithful and humble would be answered. Yet those who would aim to reach heights above the tree, would be met with a parent's disapproval. And like such scorned sons, the men would retreat, their desires in their own hands.

Cities were built outward, then over time upward, and the constructs would scrape the sky. And upward they went, grey meeting blue, their strength and their reach immense. The sky was uplifted above the oak's outstretched arms and its limbs were relieved of their struggle.

The faithful became less, their prayers were for the towers and the deeds dealt within, and the great old oak was alone. The sun crossed the sky immeasurable times, and the scorned sons had forgotten their past. Their dreams were now met, their arms stretching higher than the mother they abandoned. Their reach was as high as could be.

The oak was alone, the shadows of the towers shaded it from the sun. A weakness took hold, the mother shed its limbs and leaves and bark, then died. The children who had forgotten moved on without pity, and chose to pierce the sky and travel beyond. But while the oak was their mother, the silent sky was their father, and the sky was enraged and in grief. The grey towers could not hold, they bent to the father's strength and the scorned sons tumbled from their high seats.

The sky fell fast, fear forced the children to the dead temple, their last refuge. They prayed to the mother, who could not answer, then huddled amongst her roots. The dried limbs of the tree littered the floor around them, unable to lift the sky any more. When the father broke his silence and shouted, the wood was en-kindled and burnt. The mother's last answer to the prayers of her children was to start a fire at their feet. And amongst the last people, a cry nor a prayer nor a kiss could console them in the end.