“I stretch my boughs, reaching toward the turquoise sky. I thrill at the newborn sunlight dodging through the surrounding not-me trees. It warms my bone leaves and bloodwood bark. The smells of sea brine and sweet decay soften the bitter, hot-iron scent of my natural wood oils.
“Birds break into song in the not-me trees–the not-me’s called ceiba trees. Their roots arch high like manmade walls, and their boughs grow thick, wide, and spiny. They shelter magi cuckoos in their branches. They’re magi because they wisely refuse to roost in my branches. Like the rodents, lizards, and bugs, they don’t want to live forever, for that is only for the Good King to try.”
This was my twenty-four-hour story at the Writers of the Future Workshop. To my dismay-mixed-with-delight, my story was selected to be critiqued. It has some editing to undergo, but I’m happy with its potential. Hopefully, I’ll whip it into shape by the end of the month. I also might expand it into a novella. We’ll have to see, considering the main character is a tree…
Amy Henrie Gillett 