In the distant reaches of the universe a Tree grew. It was aeons old; so old that, in fact, age wasn’t relevant in describing it. What mattered was that the roots of this tree extended far beyond the grasp of man’s consciousness, transcending space, time, and existence to probe deeply into incomprehensible dimensions. The Tree supported all that was and all that ever would be. Nothing existed that wasn’t spawned of the Tree or part of the Tree’s being.
The Tree had a myriad of branches; branches of all lengths, shapes, sizes, colors; branches that lived as separate entities; branches that claimed ignorance when confronted by life.
One branch stretched far beyond it’s brothers and sisters. It’s end was a tall, sparsely branched oak tree in the center of a great, mysterious field on the planet Earth. The Tree, thought the inhabitants of a nearby village, housed nymphs, and therefore it had remained untouched while smaller, less-choice trees around it had been harvested for their wood. The wise men would look at the tree through clouds of contemplative pipe smoke, the children of the village would frolic in its branches and trace their soft, explorative hands over its wrinkled bark wonderingly.
Nearby, upon a mound of rock almost as old as the Tree’s existence on Earth itself, stood a firmly built castle of granite and black marble. Inside a nameless maiden sat out her days and gazed wistfully at the countryside around her. One day the maiden’s elders stayed out extra late on a hunting trip. Idly she picked at a bale of cloth in her room, neglecting her weaving in order to daydream. As she sat, a bright golden leaf tinged with red hues fell from the Tree. It drifted gaily, playing sprightly upon the arms of the wind, and fluttered through the girl’s window, landing near her hand. She touched it curiously, and a feeling of intense pleasure came over her. She swooned, fell back, and lifted her head above clouds of mahogany, sapphire, and turquoise. She floated lazily through layers of scents and pleasant, ringing sounds. Suddenly her senses cleared and she was standing underneath the tree. Around her the field shimmered, melted, slid away, and she was standing below a different Tree of such great dimensions that she could never have seen more than a root; yet somehow, her mind saw the new Tree in its entirety, and she smiled.
Above the girl a single fruit grew into existence. It hung unripe from a golden branch, swaying gently from time to time in a nonexistent breeze. Slowly, over centuries of human time, it grew, acquiring hints of red and blue beneath the green of it’s skin. Below the leaves and branches the girl stared perpetually upwards, captivated by the fruit, always smilingly and often twirling her now body-length hair in one hand. The other was raised, as if in praise, to the fruit, open-palmed. The fruit grew. And the girl, staring at the fruit, suddenly knew what it was, and uttered the first word she had said in many years: Graham. Stoically, the fruit continued to swell in size, till it was as large as the girls head. Colors swirled beneath the surface continuously, and occasionally, wet beads of pure blue would well up on the sea-green skin.
One day the fruit was poised to fall. It was obscenely ripe. The flesh was soft, indented in places, and the skin was almost split, only staying together with a great, strained effort. The girl smiled and raised both hands to catch the fruit. It fell. It fell, fell, fell, lilting slowly to the girl’s hands, and her golden-red hair streamed out behind her like a lion’s mane. Her eyes shone with intense blue, her red lips, as ripe as the fruit, split, her white teeth gleamed with the purity of the snow, and from below her belly a light, beautiful laugh echoed, caressing the tree. The fruit was almost to her hands. As soon as the tips of her gentle, long fingers touched the skin, a light rain of arrows fell horizontally from behind the girl, pirouetting gracefully through the air, spinning and dancing like laughing, singing children. The first arrow pierced the girl’s back; she was lifted upwards, glorious, her arms spread, her mouth open, her tongue out to taste the richness of life. The other arrows joined in the heroic act, pushing the girl like a father helping his son to ride his bike; she ascended higher, past the fruit, which hung in stasis, and the arrows made a pair of beautiful wings in her back. Red ribbons flung themselves peacefully and eternally from her back, the arrows protruded from her front, and she continued to fly until she hit the tree. There she hung, smiling, pinned to the Tree of everything that Is, there she remains, she has always been there. The fruit floated a moment longer, then began falling, racing at breakneck speeds, towards the ground, which was now black as ebony with rivers of red coursing across it’s fiendishly slick surface. The fruit fell unthinking towards the maw of a giant beast, which opened impossibly from the ground itself. Faint images of a serpent’s body as long as the tree’s roots themselves imprinted themselves into the consciousness of the Fruit. Still it fell, it could do nothing else, nor would it stop itself, even if it could. At last it met the mouth, slipped past the teeth, tumbled silently into the gullet of the beast, and the beast withdrew, leaving the Tree infinite in its beauty, with the lost maiden already sinking into the surface of eternity with little more than a ripple. The fruit didn’t split when it hit the ground. It merely rolled slightly, then shook it’s head, stood, and peered around itself. Somewhere inside the fruit a boy opened his eyes. They cut his umbilical cord. He cried. The priest christened him Graham.
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