The elderly man trembled as he walked to his wooden desk. Having lost the speed and grace of his youth, he fiddled with the drawers, removing an empty envelope. He set it down, and continued to a table in one of his many living rooms, pulling out sandpapery gray stationary. Wrinkled and grayed by more than time, his skin felt heavy on his muscles.
The silence of the mansion was broken by a pen click.
Once a tall strong man, he put on a pair of thick glasses. As he held his letter up, he inspected his work.
“It will suffice for the night,” he thought to himself. Folding it perfectly, as he had learned to do through many years as a businessman, he placed it inside a standard white envelope. Trading glances between the address he’d copied earlier, and his envelope, he wrote the destination neatly in the center.
He looked out the window, and sighed. The echoes bounced back and forth around him, deafening a man so accustomed to silence. His bones creaked as he lifted himself from his chair, and headed for the long, elegant staircase. His gray attire blended perfectly with the gray walls as he ascended. Nearly losing himself in a maze of empty rooms, he finally entered the master bedroom. His last thoughts considered how even the deepest sleep could show no remorse.
At about the time he moved into his office, his first tree had grown tall, and strong. The only mother in a household of rampant children, she sat, awaiting the day when someone might come along. One who might take a taste of the children she had labored so meticulously to create.
She had enjoyed the years with the man. He was caring and kind; a good man She felt glad with the attentions she received. Now all she ever felt was time, weighing down on her, beginning to break her fragile body. She watched it seep into the ground, ferment and rot, while more of it fell from the sky, to finish what it had started.
She was a fully grown specimen. Her appearance, despite neglect on the part of her caretaker, was still just as nice as any other. Her branches had grown long, her trunk tall and firm. She was as pretty a sight as she’d ever be.
She sighed, deafened by the echoes.
The man had wasted no time in the commodities of using a desk that night. He wrote from his bed, staining his sheets with gray hairs. Sitting in the house that resounded with the sounds of his own breathing, he repeated the process he had gone through for the last two nights, of labeling the envelope and setting it down to be sent the next day. He slept.
The next morning, a worker came to him.
“Sir, we needya ta sign someting.”
“Why, exactly?” His voice hinted anger. He didn’t like accents.
“Der’s a tree we aren’t able ta uproot.” The buff, tall man looked down, slightly embarrassed. “We know how ta uproot any o da udda trees, but dis one is just too big!”
“Well, let me have a look at it. I don’t work to have my money stolen from right under my nose.” He reached for his boots.
It looked like any other dead tree. Its roots gnarled, bark grayed by years of winter and summer, its leaves clinging to it like babies to their mothers, but to no avail. The tree was dead. As he informed the workers about their new task, it dawned on him.
This was no regular tree. This was his tree. His child. His firstborn. Now she was dead.
All the memories he’d lost with work, with life, rushed back. Memories of the tree he abandoned. The years of his life he’d poured into it, giving purpose, only to abandon it. Alone she sat, waiting for the return of her caretaker. She wept, opening her eyes to shadows. Mirages. She became sick, and this was a cancer too relentless and precise. The tree twisted, out of anguish, depression, driven mad by the fame it would never have. It died.
The man resolved to tell everyone the story of his tree. The tree whose fruit could seduce anything in an instant. Even if he was remembered as a crazy man, obsessed with a tree, they would know. They would all know.
The world sat still for a moment.
He looked to the sun, and asked, “But how long will I last?”
__________________________________________________
Seeing as I completely botched my WWYP entry, I thought I'd put some sort of effort into the story and see if it turned out any better. I admit that this version is also a bit low on the quality. Sorry
.
Any comments, suggestions, thoughts, etc. would be greatly appreciated though.
The silence of the mansion was broken by a pen click.
“Dear Sir,
I became a statewide distributor fifteen years ago. By then, I had a lot of trees in my orchard; apples, oranges, peaches, you name it.
It was more or less June when I planted the first tree. At the time I didn’t really have a plan for it, I just knew that I’d planted a fruit tree. Each day, I checked up on it. Each day, searched for fruits, watered it, untangled the branches, tried to soothe those roots that I dreamed would become massive. Years of labor passed me by.
From time to time, I would see something round on the tree. Like a man who sees rivers in a desert, I’d chase after the round object, only to find it was my imagination fooling me.
Then one day it bore fruit. A momentous occasion for me. I danced on my way home.
I sat down on the sofa, inspecting my surroundings for the first time. I’d never really taken a good look around, always caught up in the excitement of the tree. It was pretty rickety - just a big room with two sofas for a living room, a bedroom, a pretty meager kitchen area, and a bathroom.
Setting the filled basket on the table, I looked at them intently. I was an eagle, eyeing my prey. They all looked perfect. Carefully taking one out, trying to keep the others as safe as possible, I took a single bite. The flavor was incredible. I could feel the pleasure in my tongue, running down my throat and hitting my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to savor the taste of it as much as I possibly could. I'd never had anything quite so sweet, nor would I have anything so good ever again.
That room was the same room where my plans all developed, where my fort was born. I took the seeds of the fruits I'd eaten and placed them in a jar. I would not rest until trees covered everything.
Alone, I raised all those trees. The tree of golden fruit, my first tree, was the overseer to my work. Inspecting everything. Keeping everything in order, like a taskmaster. I loved the tree, and visited it every day. Towering from above, the tree guided me; advised me. The new trees it had helped me grow began to flourish, young pups turning into dogs. My orchard was beginning to grow.
There will be more tomorrow. It is too late an hour for me to continue.”
The man put his pen down on the incredibly neat workspace, populated only by a lamp and his stationary, all perfectly aligned with the edge of the desk.I became a statewide distributor fifteen years ago. By then, I had a lot of trees in my orchard; apples, oranges, peaches, you name it.
It was more or less June when I planted the first tree. At the time I didn’t really have a plan for it, I just knew that I’d planted a fruit tree. Each day, I checked up on it. Each day, searched for fruits, watered it, untangled the branches, tried to soothe those roots that I dreamed would become massive. Years of labor passed me by.
From time to time, I would see something round on the tree. Like a man who sees rivers in a desert, I’d chase after the round object, only to find it was my imagination fooling me.
Then one day it bore fruit. A momentous occasion for me. I danced on my way home.
I sat down on the sofa, inspecting my surroundings for the first time. I’d never really taken a good look around, always caught up in the excitement of the tree. It was pretty rickety - just a big room with two sofas for a living room, a bedroom, a pretty meager kitchen area, and a bathroom.
Setting the filled basket on the table, I looked at them intently. I was an eagle, eyeing my prey. They all looked perfect. Carefully taking one out, trying to keep the others as safe as possible, I took a single bite. The flavor was incredible. I could feel the pleasure in my tongue, running down my throat and hitting my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to savor the taste of it as much as I possibly could. I'd never had anything quite so sweet, nor would I have anything so good ever again.
That room was the same room where my plans all developed, where my fort was born. I took the seeds of the fruits I'd eaten and placed them in a jar. I would not rest until trees covered everything.
Alone, I raised all those trees. The tree of golden fruit, my first tree, was the overseer to my work. Inspecting everything. Keeping everything in order, like a taskmaster. I loved the tree, and visited it every day. Towering from above, the tree guided me; advised me. The new trees it had helped me grow began to flourish, young pups turning into dogs. My orchard was beginning to grow.
There will be more tomorrow. It is too late an hour for me to continue.”
Once a tall strong man, he put on a pair of thick glasses. As he held his letter up, he inspected his work.
“It will suffice for the night,” he thought to himself. Folding it perfectly, as he had learned to do through many years as a businessman, he placed it inside a standard white envelope. Trading glances between the address he’d copied earlier, and his envelope, he wrote the destination neatly in the center.
He looked out the window, and sighed. The echoes bounced back and forth around him, deafening a man so accustomed to silence. His bones creaked as he lifted himself from his chair, and headed for the long, elegant staircase. His gray attire blended perfectly with the gray walls as he ascended. Nearly losing himself in a maze of empty rooms, he finally entered the master bedroom. His last thoughts considered how even the deepest sleep could show no remorse.
“Dear Sir,
The new trees soon called for attention. I, being their caretaker, had to raise them. However, a parent can only give so much love, and it seems the more children there are, the less they each get.
They, like their predecessor, bore fruit. That very day, I planted more, and the few trees I had evolved into a jungle. While I had a high acreage, I had but a tiny shack. There grew to be so many trees that I lost control of them all, and wouldn’t see some of them for days. It dawned on me that I needed help.
The first worker I hired was a young man, strong, with lots of experience on a field. He was a good worker. However, it occurred to me that I needed more, if I was ever to rest, and that my paycheck couldn’t handle something like this. It was clear that I should sell.
Sales were slow in the beginning. I was constantly in my bedroom, pondering all the options I had, trying to market things better. I knew my fruit was of high quality. It would sell, with time.
And reliable as the sun, sales picked up speed. My house doubled in size, along with my acreage.
I abandoned the cluttered bedroom for an office in town.
I will send more tomorrow.”
The new trees soon called for attention. I, being their caretaker, had to raise them. However, a parent can only give so much love, and it seems the more children there are, the less they each get.
They, like their predecessor, bore fruit. That very day, I planted more, and the few trees I had evolved into a jungle. While I had a high acreage, I had but a tiny shack. There grew to be so many trees that I lost control of them all, and wouldn’t see some of them for days. It dawned on me that I needed help.
The first worker I hired was a young man, strong, with lots of experience on a field. He was a good worker. However, it occurred to me that I needed more, if I was ever to rest, and that my paycheck couldn’t handle something like this. It was clear that I should sell.
Sales were slow in the beginning. I was constantly in my bedroom, pondering all the options I had, trying to market things better. I knew my fruit was of high quality. It would sell, with time.
And reliable as the sun, sales picked up speed. My house doubled in size, along with my acreage.
I abandoned the cluttered bedroom for an office in town.
I will send more tomorrow.”
At about the time he moved into his office, his first tree had grown tall, and strong. The only mother in a household of rampant children, she sat, awaiting the day when someone might come along. One who might take a taste of the children she had labored so meticulously to create.
She had enjoyed the years with the man. He was caring and kind; a good man She felt glad with the attentions she received. Now all she ever felt was time, weighing down on her, beginning to break her fragile body. She watched it seep into the ground, ferment and rot, while more of it fell from the sky, to finish what it had started.
She was a fully grown specimen. Her appearance, despite neglect on the part of her caretaker, was still just as nice as any other. Her branches had grown long, her trunk tall and firm. She was as pretty a sight as she’d ever be.
She sighed, deafened by the echoes.
“Dear Sir,
I am not married, nor was I ever. Partners are similar, however, they lack any form of gratification whatsoever. Some might say they lighten the workload, I say they lighten the paycheck. With all the money I saved from sparing myself the useless commodities, I improved my home; finally gave myself a livable environment. Hopefully you’ll use this information.
I spent the next years working hard to license my fruit over larger areas. At first I was just a city-wide distributor. By the subsequent fall I was selling all over the county.
Profits were very high at about this time. I didn’t even have to work all that often, and instead relaxed in my increasingly large abode. I often changed the furniture, or invited a business executive for dinner. If I’d had a wife, that’s all she would’ve been good for. I did one better, though. I had a chef, and seeing as I owned an orchard, more than enough fruit to satiate any being.
Years passed, and I still needed to be approved for distributing statewide. But, much like things had in the beginning, the quality of the fruit was enough to impress, and soon we would be. Sales skyrocketed. We marketed ourselves as the “underground” fruit. The “no pesticides, all natural” fruit. The teenagers ate the stuff up, literally.
Tomorrow you will receive the fourth and final letter. I have actual news for you, so do not think of this as time wasted.”
I am not married, nor was I ever. Partners are similar, however, they lack any form of gratification whatsoever. Some might say they lighten the workload, I say they lighten the paycheck. With all the money I saved from sparing myself the useless commodities, I improved my home; finally gave myself a livable environment. Hopefully you’ll use this information.
I spent the next years working hard to license my fruit over larger areas. At first I was just a city-wide distributor. By the subsequent fall I was selling all over the county.
Profits were very high at about this time. I didn’t even have to work all that often, and instead relaxed in my increasingly large abode. I often changed the furniture, or invited a business executive for dinner. If I’d had a wife, that’s all she would’ve been good for. I did one better, though. I had a chef, and seeing as I owned an orchard, more than enough fruit to satiate any being.
Years passed, and I still needed to be approved for distributing statewide. But, much like things had in the beginning, the quality of the fruit was enough to impress, and soon we would be. Sales skyrocketed. We marketed ourselves as the “underground” fruit. The “no pesticides, all natural” fruit. The teenagers ate the stuff up, literally.
Tomorrow you will receive the fourth and final letter. I have actual news for you, so do not think of this as time wasted.”
The man had wasted no time in the commodities of using a desk that night. He wrote from his bed, staining his sheets with gray hairs. Sitting in the house that resounded with the sounds of his own breathing, he repeated the process he had gone through for the last two nights, of labeling the envelope and setting it down to be sent the next day. He slept.
“Dear Sir,
With the profit came the final and largest renovation to my home; a month-long undertaking. When I finally returned, each room smelled like plaster and paint. Intricate designs artfully placed along the walls. Tables and desks of various kinds of expensive and rare woods. Marble statues and floors. Three stories, with many guest bedrooms to accommodate anyone that I might ever need to. The house was, I feel, almost a little too big. An improvement nonetheless.
Time has flown since then, and now here I am, aged and old, with creases and folds in my skin to prove it. My career is coming to a close; I need a successor, and, obviously, it’s you.
I’m retiring. I hope you can do as well for this company as I did, and perhaps even do better. I know you’re capable of keeping it afloat; if you weren’t I’d have chosen someone else. I bless you in your efforts, and I resign leadership to you. I’ve made millions in my day, and it’s time someone else stood in the limelight. I hope you'll use my story as advice, and make the company I started a worldwide affair.
Take good care.”
With the profit came the final and largest renovation to my home; a month-long undertaking. When I finally returned, each room smelled like plaster and paint. Intricate designs artfully placed along the walls. Tables and desks of various kinds of expensive and rare woods. Marble statues and floors. Three stories, with many guest bedrooms to accommodate anyone that I might ever need to. The house was, I feel, almost a little too big. An improvement nonetheless.
Time has flown since then, and now here I am, aged and old, with creases and folds in my skin to prove it. My career is coming to a close; I need a successor, and, obviously, it’s you.
I’m retiring. I hope you can do as well for this company as I did, and perhaps even do better. I know you’re capable of keeping it afloat; if you weren’t I’d have chosen someone else. I bless you in your efforts, and I resign leadership to you. I’ve made millions in my day, and it’s time someone else stood in the limelight. I hope you'll use my story as advice, and make the company I started a worldwide affair.
Take good care.”
The next morning, a worker came to him.
“Sir, we needya ta sign someting.”
“Why, exactly?” His voice hinted anger. He didn’t like accents.
“Der’s a tree we aren’t able ta uproot.” The buff, tall man looked down, slightly embarrassed. “We know how ta uproot any o da udda trees, but dis one is just too big!”
“Well, let me have a look at it. I don’t work to have my money stolen from right under my nose.” He reached for his boots.
It looked like any other dead tree. Its roots gnarled, bark grayed by years of winter and summer, its leaves clinging to it like babies to their mothers, but to no avail. The tree was dead. As he informed the workers about their new task, it dawned on him.
This was no regular tree. This was his tree. His child. His firstborn. Now she was dead.
All the memories he’d lost with work, with life, rushed back. Memories of the tree he abandoned. The years of his life he’d poured into it, giving purpose, only to abandon it. Alone she sat, waiting for the return of her caretaker. She wept, opening her eyes to shadows. Mirages. She became sick, and this was a cancer too relentless and precise. The tree twisted, out of anguish, depression, driven mad by the fame it would never have. It died.
The man resolved to tell everyone the story of his tree. The tree whose fruit could seduce anything in an instant. Even if he was remembered as a crazy man, obsessed with a tree, they would know. They would all know.
The world sat still for a moment.
He looked to the sun, and asked, “But how long will I last?”
__________________________________________________
Seeing as I completely botched my WWYP entry, I thought I'd put some sort of effort into the story and see if it turned out any better. I admit that this version is also a bit low on the quality. Sorry
.Any comments, suggestions, thoughts, etc. would be greatly appreciated though
.