Mar
15
SPLAT by Jackie Atkins
There is nothing deader than a dead tree. Its branches are grey, its bark brittle and it bears no leaves. What’s the use of it? This is why it had to go, be cut down, chipped away and rid; after all it was already dead, right?
Upright, it seemed ok but my neighbor knew better. “Aren’t you going to do something about this thing” became “when when are you going to do something”?
Then one morning I answered my door and saw Ed (my neighbor) with a two man saw.
“Let’s do it”, he said and I didn’t think he was talking about anything else but slivering away at an old bone. At first I wanted to call up an ex flame. Then I thought about it, I can hem and haw with the best of them.
It was a skinny tree, a very skinny dead tree. How hard could this be?
Ed, placed his hands on the North handle and I grabbed the South. It was easy, well kinda.
So we’re there heaving back and forth having a good time actually when Ed says, be careful and don’t let go. Huh?
The trunk was cut almost to the end and with a little more effort the saw would free itself from the limb and come out on the other side. This was the game plan.
What we didn’t count on was how the tree wanted to stay in tacked. Ya figure it would get wobbly? Well I did. Instead it just creaked and didn’t budge. Soon I got tired and let go. Then it gave way. So did the saw. My half swing into the air and then boomeranged.
So now I’m looking at my head on the ground and my body slithering a foot in front of it. The face on the head looks angry.
Now you’re probably wondering about how sorry I am cause my last face on earth was a frown. Quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a dam. That was that and this is now.
Now, I’m staring into an abyss as I rise above the frantic scene on that silly earth. The sirens are whaling in the distance but I gaze toward a tunnel funneling me upward.
I’m so happy to be rid of it all.
Everything is peaceful and without care. Oh, I know you’ve heard this before but as I said I don’t gafs. I am going up, which as far as I was told is not where I should be heading but surprise, surprise, here I go.
I just hope when I get to the light, I’m not sent back there as a chicken. Is this how Anne Boleyn felt?
But, before I no longer think about this and lose contact I have to tell you. This is great. When people point to Hell as down there, well they’re really pointing at you and where you live. Up there is where I am now. Hell, dear friend is back on earth because Hell is living on earth.
Trust me. I’m as sturdy as a tree on this one.
You can contact Jackie at jatkinsjatkins@aol.com
1 comment
I love this one! I can picture it happening to my friends, the bright idea that ends in disaster, every time! And I love this story for the writing, the cadence and the Kerouackian poetry of a phrase like this: ‘The sirens are whaling in the distance but I gaze toward a tunnel funneling me upward.” …”but I gaze toward a tunnel funneling me upward” This is how I try to write! There’s a phrase for when you use words that sound similar, the u-u-u-u, and there’s another word for when you have two words with matching double consonants like the n’s in tunneling and funneling. Poetic devices is what they are. Okay, now let me just address the homonym by saying it had me laughing my ass off picturing a longboat full of mermaids harpooning humpbacks, and thank you for that, it’s good to laugh, good for you! Anyway, that’s another reason why I loved this story.