Forward Slash Introduction
We don't have much time. This is
the Author. I know that normally the Forward of a book is written by
some other famous person triumphing the accomplishments of a writer's
illustrious career, but I have neither famous admirers nor room for
idle words. It is extremely important that I warn you before you
begin reading this book and this is the only place where we'll get to
speak. As soon as the story begins I'm limited by the laws of
narrative. It becomes the Narrator's story from that point on and the
Narrator of this story is insane.
It's my fault. I set out with
the goal of telling a story about a tree which did impossible things,
but the story needed a character. The more impossible the tree
became, the more insane the character had to become to not be
impressed by it. So the character slowly became the Narrator and he
just kept evolving until it was...
There's no point in hiding the
truth. The Narrator is an alien. I can't tell you what type because
then it might think it's being written about and then it will read
this Forward as opposed to skipping over it thinking it's just
someone applauding my work which it is going to take credit for. You
need to know some things about the Narrator. 1. It is a
megalomaniacal scene stealer. 2. It has no qualms ruining the story
to further its own plans. 3. Unless I can catch it by surprise, I
won't be able to stop it. I'm sorry if this is a bit confusing now,
just know that this will all make sense as the story goes along. Just
know that there is a greater story at work here, even if it tries to
convince you otherwise.
You are about to meet Adam, and
Adam loves Lelia. The Narrator thinks this is the story of Adam and a
Tree, but it was always meant to be a love story. As far as the
Narrator knows, Lelia was cut out of the story in revisions, which
allows me to keep him from controlling her actions, otherwise it
would kill her as soon as she entered the tale. Fortunately the
Narrator can't kill Adam, but unfortunately I can't keep the Narrator
from controlling Adam's actions if Adam isn't acting.
There's not much time left. I
can already feel the Narrator considering why the story hasn't begun
yet.
No matter what the Narrator
tells you, it does not have full control of the story. I only let it
think it does because it makes my life easier. Remember that. It does
not have control.
Oh, and it's a novella so that's
why the chapters are called chapterellas. Clever aye?
Ok, that's all I've got. I don't
want to ruin the story for you, so I have to leave you on your own.
Now to seal the illusion. Ahem.
It is for those reasons which I
have detailed which have inspired me to celebrate this, the debut
novel of the Author, as perhaps one of the most important novels of
our time. His simultaneous refutation and embracing of Post Modern
conventions creates an at once confusing and yet completely
engrossing narrative, the likes which have never been seen. It is a
great honor to be here, introducing a work of such unparalleled
creativity, one which has inspired my own personal writing, and the
writing of generations to come.
~H. Tree
Prologue: Chapterella 1
Envision the sound of a tree
hitting a house faster than the speed of light. That sound is
followed, though technically preceded, by the force of the tree
hitting Adam Hayes' house faster than the speed of light. Right in
the roof. The force of this impact launches debris somewhere past the
Degobah system, which as we all know is in a galaxy far far away.
Striking is the wrong word here. Decapitating fits better.
Treecapitating best.
Adam Hayes, the supposed hero of
this story, was, up until the moment a tree slammed through his house
faster than the speed of light, sleeping. Dreaming. Rolling and
roiling. Tossing and turning. He was trapped in a nightmare to be
more exact. Several dreams within dreams to be precise. He's not
asleep anymore. Or is he? Bum bum bum.
He's not. Otherwise you might
start thinking that this novel is a question about how we can ever be
sure whether we're awake or asleep and then I'll have to end the
story with some ominous scene where the audience is left not knowing
if the character is awake or asleep and that's just too obvious.
Now awake, Adam stares up at the
hovering trunk of the imposibilitree with the the same sort of fear a
black Friday shopper feels when they realize the last Telefurby has
sold out and they must crush Billy's Christmas dreams. He sputters as
his eyes take in the impossibility of it. He moves as if to scream
but finds no voice. As if cued to do so, the tree begins to slowly
rotate and lower itself towards him from roof level.
Oh, did I mention that the trunk
of the tree is yellow? It is a brilliant shade of yellow quite like
the shade one's skin becomes when their liver begins to fail.
Jaundice Sunrise. I do so enjoy that shade. As long as I'm discussing
the tree, I should point out some of its other unique features. The
tree is similar in structure to a large maple one might
stereotypically associate with Canada, except instead of leaves the
tree has phosphorescent green flowers which Adam would recognize as
Aokigahara cherry blossoms which I don't have to explain to you since
I'm sure you've frequented the area.
The tree descends, rotating,
framed by moonlight so as to appear angelic, serene, and raise just a
little bit of question about symbolism. Adam's house is no match for
the might of the Tree, collapsing beneath it. Blossom covered limbs
begin to grind into the dirt beside the house's perimeter. Now
envision the sound of a Great White Shark with chainsaws for teeth
tearing through the hull of the Titanic. Yes that never happened, but
picture it. Embrace it. Allow it to sweep you off your feet, take you
to dinner. Invite that sound up for coffee afterward.
Bow chicka chainsaw.
Dirt is flung haphazardly every
which way, such that a splatter artist might comment on how similar
the arrangement of the particles on the splintering wooden frame of
the house looks to a Pollack. A normal person might instead focus on
the moment that the tree ceases its descent. One inch above Adam.
If Adam reached out he would be
able to brush his hands across the suspended, slowly rotating trunk.
Important note, there are no roots, only branches. I failed to
mention this earlier because it was unimportant at the time. Now it
is extremely important.
The tree hovers. Adam lays. The
tree continues spinning. Adam lays. With a horrendous “fwip,” the
tree disappears from where it once levitated. Adam lays. Surrounded
by the remnants of what had once been a house. Except that there are
no remnants. What a twist! Just Adam, his bed, and the concrete
foundation. How did that happen? It defies explanation! Adam is
subconsciously aware of this, but his attention is focused elsewhere.
In
a tear arousing tale I could reveal to you how he had obtained the
house
from his now dead parents. How he had promised them, on their
deathbeds, that he would care for the house, raise a family there.
How he'd never abandon his mentally challenged brother, Fred. Who was
in the next room. How in this moment he swears to seek vengeance on a
tree which has taken everything from him.
But none of this would be true.
The house is a house, Adam is Adam. There is no family only Zuul. And
there's no debris around Adam because I didn't want to narrate it. So
there you go. A simple explanation.
The
disappearance of the tree allows Adam a moment to inhale deeply and
finally unleash the scream which has been struggling to burst free.
This is the beginning for Adam. He's about to “come face to face
with his dark destiny...as he leads a star filled cast as a
delusional...” no, wait, sorry. That was the back text from Donnie
Darko.
This is not that story. This is Hypothetically
Speaking.
It is
the story of Adam. Adam and a tree. The Tree. Adam, The Tree, and me.
Me and Adam. We three. Tree...
Chapterella 2: The First Rule
of the Tree is That You Do Not Talk About the Tree
Adam.
Adam continues screaming, still
laying on the bed.
Adam!
It may not be coming through
clearly but I'm trying to communicate with him. He's still in a state
of shock so I'll forgive him a moment.
A penny which was lost beneath
the upstairs dresser finishes its uneventful trip to the mesosphere
and back. It strikes Adam in the nose, which contrary to popular
legend cannot kill you. But it still hurts a lot.
“Ouch.”
Voice like an aardvark this one.
He sits up, rubs his nose, and turns to look over his devastated
household.
Adam.
He looks around him, seekingly,
but is unable to see anything.
“Who said that?”
He once again sweeps the empty
space around him as you may have assumed he would upon hearing a
disembodied voice speak to him. Being that I am a disembodied voice
he sees nothing. Disembodied is the wrong word, simply the one which
best explains my presence without getting into xenobiology and
fourthwallsentence-stringdimensionality.
I said that Adam.
More looking. More wasted time.
“Who are you?”
I
am an alien from the planet XykyXykXykXyx,
which makes me a XykyXykXykXyxian.
But that's not important. Or rather it is immensely important but in
the time it would take for me to explain what I am you will have
either stopped reading this story or died. Neither of these is a
pleasant outcome for you. Now that I've introduced myself, we're
friends, you and I. But Adam doesn't need to know that.
I am God/Tree, Adam.
Shock, horror, awe, all the
proper reactions to being told God/Tree is speaking to you. He's not
going to do anything you wouldn't expect him to this early in the
story. What kind of a book do you think you're reading? No, Adam,
still laying on his bed, assumes he's begun losing his mind.
“God/Tree?”
Yes Adam. I am the Alpha and
the Omega. It who created the universe and all within it.
He's
still not convinced. I part the night and shine a light down upon
him. A comfortable 60 Watt glow. Adam is ready to believe.
I have come with a message of
great importance. Do you have a pen?
He pats his pajama pockets. Are
you as entertained by people going through the motions of a futile
attempt to manifest an object they know they never keep on themselves
as I am? I hope so or else that was a wasted joke.
No pen? Then how are you
going to remember my instructions? Do you not think them of the
greatest import?
Stuttering, some twitchy facial
movements. If you imagined Adam with jowls he would be behaving quite
humorously right now. He doesn't have jowls.
Typical human, walking around
without a pen, ignorant to the fact that God/Tree might just drop
what it is doing and choose to talk to you. This leaves me no other
options. I must kill you as a message to those who are listening, and
a warning to those who are not.
“NO!” He winces preparing
for a horrible death he can't even comprehend.
Bah ha ha ha ha. I'm not
God/Tree Adam.
He's still terrified, but his
muscles relax just a little.
“Wha-then who are you?”
I'm your guide through the
nine alternating layers of cake and icing that is hell.
“Who?”
I am your conscience.
“What?”
The Narrator
“Where?”
I'm you.
“Rutabaga?”
Rutabaga?
Adam clasps his hands behind his
head which he lowers in a manner suggestive of self fellatio. Did you
know that on average every male will attempt to give himself a blow
job at least once in his life. Did you know that this is a
potentially deadly exercise claiming the lives of tens of people a
year. Stand up, get educated, fight autofelatiobrokenbackitis.
This story is in loving memory
of my grandfather Oogldyork.
“Oh
God/tree. I've lost my mind. This isn't real. I'm still dreaming
aren't I?”
Adam smacks himself in the face.
Go ahead, you can laugh. He doesn't know it's me doing it. It won't
be the first time it happens to him.
“No. Not dreaming.” Sigh.
“What are you?”
Stop
your incessant questions
and
listen up. It's not important who I am. Or should I say it's
extremely important but in the time it would take to explain it
you'll have either died or stopped reading this story. What is
important is that you follow my instructions.”
“What instructions. What's
happening? What do you mean by stop reading?”
ADAM!
He stops freaking out. Somewhat.
“OK. There's no need to yell.”
What is the last thing you
remember?
“Well, there was the tree and
my house was destroyed and-”
No, the very last thing you
remember.
Squinty eyes. Licking his lips.
The worst memory recall face I've ever seen.
“But that is the last thing-”
Correct!
“But-”
Shut
it.
It's
time I revealed to you the next step in your journey.
“What Journey?”
Oh Adam. Sitting there in your
bed. So ignorant to the way the world works.
Don't you know anything about
adventures? First the impossible to explain thing appears and then
you have to try to figure out why it chose you.
Adam scratches his head.
“The tree is alive?”
The tree is-the tree is alive?
Did he just ask that? Didn't he see it? Isn't it obvious? I swear,
some people just need everything explained to them.
There's only one way to find
out.
Adam sits, waiting.
Waiting. Shivers as he feels a chill. Waits. Oh right, I have to tell
him.
28
days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds. That is when the world will
end.
“Are...are
you serious?”
What,
no, that's another Donnie Darko reference. Haven't you been paying
attention?
It's
like he sits around his house all day not educating himself on
popular culture. He's not going to understand half of my pithy
remarks.
“I'm
so confused.”
That's
none of my concern. Only your pursuit of the tree is my concern.
Adam
is thinking that pursuing the tree would be preposterous. It has
powers unlike any he has ever seen, has the power to destroy a house
and-
“Stop
thinking about all of the reasons not to and just accept that you
must. It will make this all easier for you if you just lay back and
accept it.”
Adam
gets very serious. Not just because he's trying to possibly implied
rape joke. It's not an implied rape joke. You monster. He shakes off
the thought and tries to figure out where he should look when
addressing a disembodied voice, settling on straight ahead.
“So
what am I supposed to do next?”
What
else Adam? You begin the most exciting part of any man's journey to
discover the mysterious nature of a trans-dimensional object.
Research. Go to the library Adam. Go to the library. The
library...library...ry...ry..ry...
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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