The Trees

      …I shouldn’t be able to tell how small this room is in the dark, but somehow I feel its compression. The motionless abyss hides all in plain sight – strangely, there is comfort in that. I don’t have to move, don’t have to think, don’t have to look ahead or behind; I simply exist away from time.

           I’m not sure how or why, but I feel myself standing up, blindly stumbling a few steps, slowly lifting my arm, and groggily twisting the handle. The door opens in the middle of a forest at first dawn, the yawning sun cracking its eyelid behind the trees. I notice these trees are all perfectly aligned and identical as well; infinitely many in homogeneous rank and file, with a line of sight shrinking to an infinitesimally small vanishing point. As the sun rises, a single ray of first-morning light reaches through the verdant grid, extending a golden line on the faded path before me. Focus goes in and out as my eyes try to follow this line forward. They still need time to adjust (even in light as gentle as this), and I struggle to track. But very slowly – trunk by trunk, leaf by leaf – my eyes inch forward and behold a set of two red doors. It’s strange: they have no frames or borders – just two unhinged doors balanced upright. And the path leading up to them…it’s so withered and covered with leaves that I can’t make out which of the two doors it's directing me to. I moan as I finally move forward, my head rushing with blood and weighted with lassitude. Through squinted eyes I just do what I always do: I grab the door on the left and pull-

           -I’m back at the bar…wait, this isn’t good…I don’t remember anything before this. How did I get to that dark room? How was I able to leave it? Why did I leave?…It was so nice; how do I get back?

           -I see my friend. I am almost blinded by the sheer power of the music pulsing around the bar’s wooden walls. Why is it so loud? The only thing louder is the shouting – dozens of people crammed in such a small place, puking tsunamis of sound that strike the ears and dull the senses. The only barricade seems to be doing what everyone else does: go with the flow and drink. I don’t know what else will numb the sound…

           -but no, not this time, not again, I need to get to my friend. I push past the bar, trying to claw my ears shut as a I wobble over to him and shout his name.

           -nothing comes out. I wring my lungs with pathetic passion: Can you hear me? I only seem to mouth these words – no noise of mine can triumph over the din. He doesn’t even notice. He just keeps retelling that gross joke, cackling his way through the nauseous pandemonium. He’s near the punchline:

           “SO THE SECOND GUY WAKES UP AND SAYS, ‘WOAH MAN, THAT’S WEIRD! I ALSO HAD THE EXACT SAME DREAM!!! A DIME CHICK PUT HER HAND DOWN-

           -the shrieks of abusive music, the people spewing daggers of chatter, and the interminable whines of laughter cut his voice out as the joke continues, and I again mouth my plea. No one notices. This is horrible…why can’t I just leave? As I cry out I feel my vocal cords violently rub together like hands trying to warm, but they fail. I try to grab him, but he is rooted:

           “AND THE THIRD GUY WAKES UP AND JUST SAYS, ‘WOW, MY DREAM WAS NOTHING LIKE THAT…I JUST DREAMED I WAS SKIING!!!!!”

           -my friend makes a skiing motion with his two hands, and the entire room detonates in a battery of squeals and snorts as the acoustic energy nearly boils my brain, an invisible mass swelling in density around my ears and eyes. Music, laughter, screams, and other atonal dissonances drown my will, and I hug my stomach as I zigzag back through the pillars of people to the door, trip through, and vomit on the floor of the forest.

           The red door is shut now.

           I rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat. Rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat. Rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat some more…then I take one long breath…exhale…

           The sun is slightly higher above the trees now. The path is still hazed and indecisive, but I can now see it is actually leading to the other door. After another few moments and a sigh, I stand up and pull it open.

           It simply falls to the ground; nothing revealed except more forest. But, I now see that it was blocking a small trail stretching deeper into the flora. I start following it, again having difficulty keeping with the path. I look back as I walk: two doors are still standing. One bordering the black square from which I began, and the other a vermillion rectangle, housing the maddening abuse of the bar.

           It’s hard to keep my eyes open as I walk forward. Why don’t I stop? Why can’t I just leave? Can I go back to the dark room? I am still so tired. I just want to lie down, but my haggard momentum maintains. The sun is now noticeably above the perfectly aligned trees, and something resembling warmth begins to clear some of the fog from my eyes. I stand slightly more upright, with steadier ease entering my gait. This actually isn’t so bad now. Up ahead there are now three doors, the same color red as before. Upon arriving I just do what I always do: I grab the door on the left and pull-

           I scream as the sounds of the bar hammer two teeth from my mouth. Jerking back and falling down, my eyes raise in horror as they see the two white specs landing in the little red puddle growing on the ground, all surrounded with the howling of the exposed door. Unconsciously I kick the door shut as I scream again. My feet and legs flex against the door that fights to open as I rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat. Rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat. Rapidly breathe in and out. Repeat some more…then I take one long breath…exhale…

      The door is still now.

      I slowly get up, and with some trepidation move to the second door. Why am I doing this? Do I have to do this? Why can’t I just leave?

           This door opens to a small room, barely big enough for a person. A single string of Christmas lights hangs from the ceiling illuminating two cups of liquid, each placed on their own bar stools. They have writing on them: the one on the left declares “Fire No Pain,” while the one on the right reads “Water Uncertainty.” I don’t know what any of that means, but unthinking (no wait…seriously, why can’t I stop and think about any of this?) I just do what I always do. I grab the one on the left and drink. After a moment of nothing, my mouth begins to boil – intense heat burning away the nerves as I try to spit it out. I get most of it, but the vestige lingers and intensifies as I try to rub it off with my fingers. My throat begins to ache as it chokes on my own hand while my tongue and upper mouth scald with peeling layers of bubbling skin. After a few more agonizing waves I feel the clouds returning to my eyes, numbing my feelings and ambitions. But true to the words written on the cup, my mouth eventually goes completely dead, and the pain is gone. I don’t even feel the holes of the freshly dislodged teeth. Hazed, I slowly shut the door (wait, wasn’t there another cup?). I move to the third door and sluggishly pull. Once again, it falls to the ground revealing an overgrown trail, now even more difficult to discern. Not knowing why, I continue to slog along the line.

           The sun moves fast. It’s already beginning to set, and I want to go back to sleep. How did a whole day go by so quickly?

           Ahead, continuing through the perfectly symmetrical lines of trees, are now four red doors. I’m so sleepy, I want to try something differen- no, without thinking I just do what I always do: I grab the door on the left and pull-

           -I don’t know how I couldn’t predict this, but the bar again erupts into existence, and the outline of the doorframe expands as an unknown force begins inhaling me in. I start floating toward it, hearing that same stupid joke:

           “AND THE THIRD GUY WAKES UP AND JUST SAYS, ‘WOW, MY DREAM WAS NOTHING LIKE THAT…I JUST DREAMED I WAS SKIING!!!!!”

           -as I watch him make a skiing motion yet again, I notice the bar starts to change. As he continues oscillating his arms, two more guys stand on either side of him and begin mimicking him. A moment later, two more join in on the sides, making a total of five dudes raising and lowering their akimbo fists with drunken giggles. Then two more to make seven, then two more to make nine, then eleven, then thirteen, then so on and so on, and instantaneously a mountain of unknown trillions of guys making identical motions extends outward from this point, a repulsive fractal buttressed by juvenile chuckles permeating the air in an exponential crescendo of insanity. By some chaotic mercy I manage to grab the door frame as I slowly float further into this swelter, and using my remaining bravery I pull myself out and slam the door shut with an exhausted cry. This time I’m too tired to be out of breath. I feel my body failing fast.

           The sun is now starting to set behind the well-ordered forest, and three doors remain. But I don’t wat to continue…I want to stop; need to stop. My chest begins to ache as embers of thought whisper in my mind: What are you doing? Why are you here if you don’t want to be? Why don’t you stop? You have control over your actio- I watch my arm open the second door. Purple liquid spills out as a human-sized cube of Jell-O ensconces an axe. Inscribed in the handle are the words “For D#3.”

           I look at the third door…but, for some reason, I simply stare at it…I am still now, and the sun begins its end by sinking its eye to sleep, and the final ray of light slides down the doors and retreats back into the forest. As darkness sets in, I continue to stare at this red atrocity…why? Why must I do it? I don’t even know what I am doing here. I just keep doing the same things. For some reason I say out loud, “I feel a little zoned out…” Images begin to blur as…drowsiness… leaking through my head…no…not yet…

      Not understanding why, I watch myself lethargically reach through the viscous liquid to the axe, seize it, and then abruptly jerk to the right and start shakily swinging at the closest tree. I’m surprised – only five swings are needed to beat the thing dead, and a distant thud takes the body away. A stump now remains. I immediately sit on it, replacing the wooden life as I fold my head into my lap. As the sun completely evaporates away, I find myself in absolute blackness. It’s funny, even though I know I’m outside I somehow feel like I’m in a small room… I shouldn’t be able to tell how small this room is in the dark, but somehow I feel its compression. The motionless abyss hides all in plain sight – strangely, there is comfort in that. I don’t have to move, don’t have to think, don’t have to look ahead or behind; I simply exist away from time.

      I’m not sure how or why, but I feel myself standing up, blindly stumbling a few steps, slowly lifting my arm, and groggily twisting the handle. The door opens in the middle of a forest at first dawn, the yawning sun cracking its eyelid-

           “HEY!”

           I suddenly start, my eyes beholding a blurry world.

           “GET THIS ASSHOLE OUT OF MY BAR! I’M NOT DEALING WITH ANOHER FIGHT TONIGHT!”

           “Just listen for a sec! That dude hit my buddy earlier for no reason – we’re the victims here!”

           “GET THE FUCK OUT!!!”

           “Well you can go skiing all by yourself, sir!”

           I realize I am now leaning on my friend who is hauling me away from the noise. I feel thick, warm liquid filling my mouth from the inside. I start taking deeper breaths, and my eyes see melted colors gradually morph back into reality. I’m being helped down a street late at night. It’s cold out. The moon is high and looking down on us.

           “Hey man how’s your face?”

           I flop my head to the left and look at my friend. “I can’t feel it,” I spit out.

           “Yeah I bet! After everything I don’t blame you for being a little zoned out tonight. I still can’t believe you took a shot after losing two teeth. HA! No one ever says that putting hair on your chest is like pulling teeth! I bet you feel a real absinthe in your mouth right now!”

           He laughs to himself as we stagger, and I become more aware of the new spaces along my gums. He pats my arm as we walk, “So where next? Should we do another Jell-O shot?”

           Without thinking my mouth drips out, “Up to you.”

           No - why can’t I just say no? I want to go home.

           I look around and see tall buildings. Stone, iron, wood…none of them feel…alleyways bisect the symmetrical lines of concrete edifices aligned in preplanned grids. It makes me wonder…

           For some reason I say, “I’m glad they don’t make buildings out of wood anymore.”

           My friend shifts a now squinted eye toward me, “Yes…it is a marvel…modern architecture…”

           “No, I mean…a tree used to be alive. Being inside a building made from wood means you’re surrounded by dead things. It’s like a coffin, or something…It just seems sad…to be alive once, but then have no choice in what happens to you.”

           “Well, my assumption would be that trees don’t mind too much. But then again, I can’t really know, as they quite stubbornly refuse to fill out questionnaires.”

           “That response willfully dismisses my point.”

           “I get the point my spacy little friend! Trees don’t get consent. How sad. But if you’re worried about freewill, tell me: which bar shall we venture to next? What about this one?”

      I follow his push to the left and behold large double doors with bright lights around the border. The intensity makes me squint, and the sound effluviating from the cracks summons nauseousness back to my throat. Dread returns as my friend gestures me to open the door. I look at the handle…

      Is choosing to not make a choice the same as making a choice by itself? Or is it just not choosing? Am I as dead as a building made of wood? My friend seems confused as he begins to pull my shoulder and open the door on the left, revealing a small, dark, motionless room.

      “We going in?”