Wounds

I have endured decades through storm and wind. I have seen many cycles of the moon and the changings of seasons. I have witnessed hundreds of suns rise and set. Despite these many years, I have learned little, and I know little. I know nothing of what came before me, and I will never know anything of what is to come after.

What I do know is limited to what is around me. I see the birds, and I feel the wind. I know the warmth of the sun and the different kinds of rain. I know nature. In fact, I believe myself to be nature.

Though nature seems to be something men despise. People have torn me, riven my skin and vandalized my body. I've been hurt and broken by blade and cord. Scorn has been cast unto me because I seemed to be the most apt target. I am cut simply for the sake of others' joy or because of their anger. This darkness and hatred in the world is something of which I want no part.

Through my years, I have picked up wounds, which have, in their time, healed. Scars remain of these wounds. I am not the same as I was before, nor will I ever be again. A knot here, and a gash there, my limbs feel heavy from the effort of surviving. The world has done nothing but expand my list of wounds.

I am grizzled and gnarled from life's axes and knives. I try my best to breathe life into the air for everyone around me, but no one recognizes my efforts. My jokes never land, my friends never stay, and my existence goes vastly unappreciated. Not one person had told me otherwise.

Not one, that is, until She came. I sat atop the hill I've done marvelous work claiming as my own and expecting no one. Tears streaked Her face. I had never seen another person look so broken. I could see in Her eyes that from Her wounds She would also never fully recover. Without a word to me, She sat beside me atop my hill.

She leaned against me with a fragile tenderness that I hadn't thought people to be capable of. I wanted to say something, or to do something, but I did not. I let Her run Herself dry of tears without any utterance or acknowledgement. It seemed as if hours passed. The sun had stumbled and was falling again. She spoke out to me then.

"I know you probably don't care about me. I'm hurting, and I hope you don't mind me bothering you, but I must tell someone, and you're all I've got now. I've been thrown away by everyone who means anything to me. I don't know where to go or what to do. I feel sometimes I've lost my mind. There's no doubt now. I'm talking to you. I've been hurting for a long time. I wonder when it was that I went beyond hope. Beyond help."

She rolled up Her sleeve and I saw a tapestry woven upon Her skin. Rough edges of pale coalesced with reds and pinks in a beautiful painting there, and I awed at Her scars. The wounds of Her past. She drew a blade, and I prepared myself for the sting, the bite of it's steel in my flesh. It didn't come. Instead, She added to Her tapestry, painting a long, thin line in red.

I watched in fascination as Her skin was opened before my eyes. Her paint flowed freely, slowly. Her expression was pained, but I don't believe it was from Her new wound. Calmly, She pulled the blade away and deliberately painted another, smaller line crossing the first. Soon, the whole tapestry had been covered in red.

Seemingly satisfied with Her work, She placed the knife gingerly on the dirt and rolled back Her newly stained sleeve. Hugging the wounded arm tightly against Her chest, She closed Her eyes and leaned Her head against me. She exhaled deeply and spoke again.

"I feel numb sometimes. I get the feeling that feeling doesn't really exist. It's not so much cold as just... empty. Whenever I do that," She gestured to Her arm, "the numbness kinda disappears for a while until I have to slash it away again. It's never better for too long, and I keep having to do it more often, recently." She was quiet for a long moment, watching the sun sink slowly behind the horizon. Just as the last remnants of light were beginning to fade away, She spoke once more.

"I never got along well with anyone in school. At least, I always told myself I didn't. Sure, I played games all the same as the other kids, I laughed, and colored in markers and made paper chains, but I always had a nagging feeling that all of my friends were made up. I always felt like my friendships were fake and they were playing a trick on me, or they did everything because they felt bad for me. I never had a best friend. I never made love. There are probably so many things in life that I missed. Maybe those things would have made me happy. Maybe they wouldn't have. I've convinced myself that the world has been cruel to me, regardless of whether or not it actually has been. My scars are a testament to that. Thank you for listening. I'm glad I can lean on someone so solid right now. It really does mean a lot."

The sun had completely disappeared now, though only recently. The moon shone too brightly for the stars to be seen, but I knew they were there, just hiding. I wish I could have shown Her the stars.

She picked up the gleaming blade again from where it had rested then, and, not bothering to move Her sleeve, gouged at the tapestry beneath. She let a soft sound out through Her lips as the knife dug into Her flesh. She dragged the edge purposefully across Her arm, much more deeply this time. The thick red paint welled up from behind Her brush more and more until She dropped it.

I sat and watched as She died. she bled until she couldn't anymore. her body went very still, and her head rested against me. her blood pooled in the dirt and grass, seeping down until I could taste it in my roots. it was vile. I wanted to run, to flee from her, and to never come back, but I couldn't. My wounds were now scars, a tapestry on my trunk and limbs, but they hadn't killed me. she had wanted to heal her wounds, these rifts in her life and in her flesh, but the scars were too painful of reminders. she couldn't let go of her past. she couldn't heal herself.

I am now destined to live out my remaining perhaps centuries with this memory. I will remain unmoving beyond what the winds demand. It is now my burden to bear. I hope that wherever it is she has gone that she is happier now. That much I would consider to be fair.