Stacked

I always knew I would be burned alive. That’s how it was destined to end for me. Most of us know, deep down, how we’re going to perish. It’s just not something that we let ourselves think about often enough to realize that we know exactly how it’s going to end. But, I knew the day would come. I am waiting to be burned.

I am lying in a circle with the others. We are completely covered in snow, and have been for months. It’s been a particularly snowy winter. We watched and waited while dozens of us were lifted from the circular stack we were arranged in back in Fall. Before this, our together-form had been dead for a full season, so we were prime for individualizing.

I’ve enjoyed being an individual. When we were in our together-form, we of course wondered what it would be like to be individuals. As an individual, I’m way lower to the Earth. I’m actually on top of the Earth. Not under it and over it like in our together-form. The main difference between being together and being individual is that I feel a lot less and see smaller. I know that sounds confusing. It’s really hard to explain. The others and I have spent many a late night trying to make sense of it all.

No one wants to talk about where we’re headed after this state of individualism. Like I said, before, it’s not something we like to think about as individuals, let alone share with others. But it’s hard to deny now, what with our stack dwindling. The snow has coated my top completely, whereas weeks ago it was only on my sides, until the individual sitting on me was removed.

I hear excruciatingly loud crunching. The snow is being depressed under large fluffy snow boots. The human is coming. This is really happening. This is it for me. I’m strangely calm. I thought I’d be a lot more frightened.

The human kicks me, ow. Kicks again. I realize in this moment, I am not only on top of Earth, I am frozen to it! The human kicks a last time and I am set free, lose from the ice cage I had lived in, unbeknownst to me, for god knows how long. The human picks me up. I am cradled in the human’s arm with one other individual, and I see two more swinging in the other arm. Long human hair brushes my ends as the arm swings back and forth. The human is a girl, and while she is walking with us, she’s huffing and puffing. She is even muttering to herself a little, cursing I think. She does not like the snow. I know because I heard her say “fuck this fucking snow I am so fucking done with this shit.”

I remember being moved back in fall. I got a sense of where we were stacked compared to where our together-form was. Our together form was deep in the woods, way behind the human house. Our stack sits at the far end of a clearing, quite a distance from the human dwelling. It takes just over a minute for the girl to trudge from the stack to the cabin. She struggles to open the door, what with both of her arms carrying us. She’s still sputtering and moaning. She really does not sound like a happy human. She throws us - with no consideration - to the ground of the cabin, beside the wood stove. It hurts when we smack the ground, and I bounce once. I think I lose some bark. She begins to lift the four of us, one by one, into the stove. I am last.

The stove is quiet. There is no rushing of leaves from wind. I feel and see even less in here. We are sitting on top of newspaper and smaller individuals outside of our together-form. We do not speak to them. We do not speak to each other. I gather that this day, despite it being our final one, is for individual thought only. Except I bet we are all thinking the same things.

Now that we’re in the dark stove, the fear sets in. There is no warm sun on my bark. No wet rain. No critters running around and over me. Just me and the other ones I am going to die with: the ones from my together-form, the ones from another tree, and the crumpled up newspaper - our ancestors who perished, but were preserved in paper form. I don’t know which way I’d rather go. If I feel and see this much less in my individual form than in my together-form, imagine being newspaper.

Thinking about the newspaper makes me deeply sad. I think I’d rather meet the flame and become ash, because at least I am natural this way. The flame. It will come soon. I am not ready, I realize. I don’t feel or see all that much but I do not want to leave yet. I take in my surroundings, thinking it may be the last time.

What I see gives me a glimmer of hope. The human, in her disgruntled state, made a grave mistake building this fire. She has compressed us together. There is no air between the individuals from my together-form, the individuals from the other tree, and our great, poor, newspaper ancestry. I stay more rigid than I ever have before, if that is even possible. I am not ready for the fire to start. I am not going down without a fight.

She takes the lighter out of her pocket. I slump, defeated. This is it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I am relieved. More curses from the girl. She’s rubbing her hands vigorously around the lighter, breathing on it to give it warmth. Click. Click. Click. “FUCK! THIS!” She screams. “FUUUUUCK!”

Then she breaks down. Full blown ugly-tears. Her breath can be seen, a little cloud in the air, when she heaves out sobs. She tucks the lighter into her coat pocket to warm it, and puts her head in her hands. Her fingers are bright pink, poking out from her brown hair while she cradles her face. She is talking to herself between bawls.

“I’m s-sick of being freezing and unc-comfortable and having to do everything all by myseeeeeelf.” She’s rocking back and forth like a baby. I wonder if the other individuals from my together-form witnessed a similar display. She weeps and wails, guttural sounds reminiscent of the wolves that would howl in the woods where my tree lived its life. She is just another animal, I think. She is an animal that is cold and scared and alone.

“I just want it to be easier.” She whispers to herself, sniffling.

The lighter in her pocket will warm up soon. She will try to start the fire and my ancestors, the newspapers, will shrivel for nothing, because she stacked the wood all wrong. None of us will light in this formation. She will have to take us all out of the stove and crumple more newspaper, and stack us again. And we will all ultimately burn eventually. That is what my fate is. I’ve always known it.

I am the log on top. If I shimmy slightly to my right, I will fall, and likely knock the small individual from the other tree so there will be two pockets of air. It will be enough air to make this fire go, so that my ancestors don’t burn for naught, and so this poor lonely girl can be warm soon.

My tree lived its life. We had 106 rings in our together-form. We saw new growth come and go. We had human children climb our branches. We experienced 38,690 sunrises and sunsets. We made a giant crash when our top half was split from our bottom after The Storm. I am an individual. And I am going to burn serving my ancestors, and warming my fellow beings.

I make my move. The logs rock and settle around me, and the air pockets are created. The girl is taking deep inhales now, and her breathing grows less shaky with each one. She pulls the lighter out of her pocket and positions it next to a piece of newspaper.

Click.