WRITING: Inevitable
(Red Sky At Night - David Gilmour)
"You're being rather generous," the woman noted absently, turning away from the oak tree and casting a look over her shoulder at the man seated behind her.
The college courtyard bustled with activity that afternoon. Classes were ending for the semester and the red brick flagstones that compromised the majority of the courtyard's floor echoed under the onslaught of hundreds of footsteps. Designed as a nexus of travel, the area was surrounded on all sides by looming buildings comprised of steel and glass. To offset the modern structures, the center of the courtyard was dominated by a slightly raised circle of grass. Nestled in the center of that clearing was an ancient tree, carefully tended by the groundskeepers that were employed by the university. Its trunk was far too large for any one person to get their arms around. Its branches were plentiful and strong, reaching high into the sky, and its roots were deep and grasping. Even this late into the year, leaves of several different colors still clung to its branches, owing much to the unusually warm season.
The man offered a shrug in response, but felt no need to elaborate further. Instead, he raised a lowball glass in one gnarled hand, saluting the woman's statement. That done, he brought the glass to his lips. There was no liquid within the vessel. Rather, it was a solid body of ice, formed perfectly to the internal contours of the glass. When the man tipped the glass to his lips, however, the ice shivered and moved smoothly into his mouth, popping and cracking with quiet complaint. He swallowed, making a pleasant sound in the back of his throat, and then murmured, "I'm in no hurry, child. I outgrew that when your brother was born." The glass was lowered then, the contents frozen into motionlessness once more.
The woman sniffed once, smiling. "I felt it appropriate to acknowledge the act. After all," she called, turning back to her work, "you did teach us courtesy, did you not?"
The woman's touches were light and firm. She ran her hands up and down the trunk, slowly moving around the tree as she did so. The oak was a giant amongst its kind, gently encouraged to life by the people who tended it. She, in turn, was quietly wiping that life away, each pass of a hand causing branches to droop just a little lower. It wouldn't be long now. She paused in her motions as a freshman walked through her, chatting happily on his mobile phone. He turned on his heel, leaning against the trunk as his conversation continued. The woman took a half step backwards, slowly folding her arms. "No respect for their elders anymore," she muttered, one finger tapping agitatedly on her elbow. A full ten seconds passed before she made an exasperated sound and stepped back towards the young man. "Rude," she called sternly, casually passing her fingertips through the front of his face before flicking them out to the side. Before her hand had even reached her side again, the freshman's nose had already started to turn red. He paused in mid-sentence, the phone falling a few inches away from his ear. Then, quite abruptly, he doubled over into an explosive and unpleasantly material sneeze, inadvertently spraying a co-ed that had strayed into his proximity. The resulting calamity saw them both moving away from the tree with speed, the co-ed frantically searching for some means of cleaning the freshman's generous donations from her skin and clothing, and the freshman trying desperately to apologize.
The woman smiled, stepping back up to the tree and laying her hands against it once more. Even as she began to caress the tree again, her eyes strayed to the two fleeing students. The cold that she'd just given them would be languishing comfortably inside of half of the population in the courtyard before the hour was over. A smile tugged at her lips. Behind her, the man chuckled quietly and sipped from his ice again. "That was petty," he offered in a calm and matter-of-fact tone. The woman kept her eyes on the students for a few more moments before looking back over her shoulder at him. "Yes," she answered, just as calmly. She smiled winsomely at him before turning back to the tree before her. She gave it a few more gentle passes with her fingertips before making a pleased sound in her throat and lowering her hands to her sides again.
Above her, the leaves whispered to one another, sharing stories of winged denizens and bushy-tailed transients. "Hush now," she called quietly to them. "It's time to sleep." Then she raised her right arm and firmly pressed her entire hand against the tree's trunk, fingers splayed against the bark. There was no sound as her skin came forcefully into contact with the wood, but a silent tremor blew upwards from her hand, crashing into the branches like some massive, invisible wave. In response, every leaf rustled, the sounds decidedly panicked in her ears.
Then, one by one, they began to fall.
"You're being rather generous," the woman noted absently, turning away from the oak tree and casting a look over her shoulder at the man seated behind her.
The college courtyard bustled with activity that afternoon. Classes were ending for the semester and the red brick flagstones that compromised the majority of the courtyard's floor echoed under the onslaught of hundreds of footsteps. Designed as a nexus of travel, the area was surrounded on all sides by looming buildings comprised of steel and glass. To offset the modern structures, the center of the courtyard was dominated by a slightly raised circle of grass. Nestled in the center of that clearing was an ancient tree, carefully tended by the groundskeepers that were employed by the university. Its trunk was far too large for any one person to get their arms around. Its branches were plentiful and strong, reaching high into the sky, and its roots were deep and grasping. Even this late into the year, leaves of several different colors still clung to its branches, owing much to the unusually warm season.
The man offered a shrug in response, but felt no need to elaborate further. Instead, he raised a lowball glass in one gnarled hand, saluting the woman's statement. That done, he brought the glass to his lips. There was no liquid within the vessel. Rather, it was a solid body of ice, formed perfectly to the internal contours of the glass. When the man tipped the glass to his lips, however, the ice shivered and moved smoothly into his mouth, popping and cracking with quiet complaint. He swallowed, making a pleasant sound in the back of his throat, and then murmured, "I'm in no hurry, child. I outgrew that when your brother was born." The glass was lowered then, the contents frozen into motionlessness once more.
The woman sniffed once, smiling. "I felt it appropriate to acknowledge the act. After all," she called, turning back to her work, "you did teach us courtesy, did you not?"
The woman's touches were light and firm. She ran her hands up and down the trunk, slowly moving around the tree as she did so. The oak was a giant amongst its kind, gently encouraged to life by the people who tended it. She, in turn, was quietly wiping that life away, each pass of a hand causing branches to droop just a little lower. It wouldn't be long now. She paused in her motions as a freshman walked through her, chatting happily on his mobile phone. He turned on his heel, leaning against the trunk as his conversation continued. The woman took a half step backwards, slowly folding her arms. "No respect for their elders anymore," she muttered, one finger tapping agitatedly on her elbow. A full ten seconds passed before she made an exasperated sound and stepped back towards the young man. "Rude," she called sternly, casually passing her fingertips through the front of his face before flicking them out to the side. Before her hand had even reached her side again, the freshman's nose had already started to turn red. He paused in mid-sentence, the phone falling a few inches away from his ear. Then, quite abruptly, he doubled over into an explosive and unpleasantly material sneeze, inadvertently spraying a co-ed that had strayed into his proximity. The resulting calamity saw them both moving away from the tree with speed, the co-ed frantically searching for some means of cleaning the freshman's generous donations from her skin and clothing, and the freshman trying desperately to apologize.
The woman smiled, stepping back up to the tree and laying her hands against it once more. Even as she began to caress the tree again, her eyes strayed to the two fleeing students. The cold that she'd just given them would be languishing comfortably inside of half of the population in the courtyard before the hour was over. A smile tugged at her lips. Behind her, the man chuckled quietly and sipped from his ice again. "That was petty," he offered in a calm and matter-of-fact tone. The woman kept her eyes on the students for a few more moments before looking back over her shoulder at him. "Yes," she answered, just as calmly. She smiled winsomely at him before turning back to the tree before her. She gave it a few more gentle passes with her fingertips before making a pleased sound in her throat and lowering her hands to her sides again.
Above her, the leaves whispered to one another, sharing stories of winged denizens and bushy-tailed transients. "Hush now," she called quietly to them. "It's time to sleep." Then she raised her right arm and firmly pressed her entire hand against the tree's trunk, fingers splayed against the bark. There was no sound as her skin came forcefully into contact with the wood, but a silent tremor blew upwards from her hand, crashing into the branches like some massive, invisible wave. In response, every leaf rustled, the sounds decidedly panicked in her ears.
Then, one by one, they began to fall.
Comments
Post a Comment