MicroHorror

The shade of the tree once covered the entire world.

This is hard to fathom, but it is true. The tree’s trunk, many miles wide, rose up from the ocean and reached far into the sky. But what stood above the water’s surface was merely its tip; beneath the waves that lapped at its impenetrable bark, the tree’s girth grew exponentially until, upon finally meeting the ocean bottom, it covered all, extending from the base of one continent to the next.

The roots of the tree were countless. Some traveled in unending circles and wrapped around the earth’s core; some grew straight through to the other side of the world, rising through water and land, up and up until they touched the clouds. These roots were thick as today’s oaks and had branches of their own, reaching out until they became entwined not only with each other, but also with the limbs and leaves of the great tree itself.

And in these early days, the tree flourished. It bore fruits and flowers and nuts of all kinds. As seasons passed, these fell to the earth, brightening its fields and enriching its soils.

But, as with many things so big, the tree was not wholly pure. Through its width ran several dark veins. These culminated in branches of bitter leaves and sap as red as blood. Sometimes these grew fruit, but it was soft and rotten and misshapen. The insects–alone in this age–fed only on the tree. Mostly, they ate what was good but some were drawn to those dark spots. There, they became fat and black.

Then the oceans filled, and the skies. The fish and birds that came did as the insects had before them. Taking what the tree offered, there were those who consumed the vile fruit and gray buds. Some of them sickened and died; others lived long, but turned fierce. Often, these animals ate each other.

Over time, the tree shrank and opened up the earth to the sun. A million years will wither all, even what was once healthy and strong. And as this happened, the tree began to crumble, falling upon itself and into the waters. Dead branches drifted through the sky and onto the lands; in some places, the dark blood of the tree seeped into the ground. The fruits that dropped years before had long begun to grow wild. Now, among them, there was infection.

Even the earliest humans, however, knew to stay away from what was tainted–to avoid the dark ground.

But then came the famine. And the storms. So the tribes of men wandered. Some joined together, out of the barren lands, and these people of many villages walked, looking for food. They came upon a black and full field.

The two most elder argued as the sun set and the wind blew around them.

“We must eat,” said the first, his face stern.

“We must not eat this,” said the second. She gestured to the fruit in front of them, its smell nauseous. She had seen what happened to the animals that ate of it. “It will change us.”

“But we will live.”

“I must live!” cried a young man nearby. His hunger was agonizing and he waited no longer.

He entered the field and ate. And the people followed. Starting slowly, the night turned into an orgy of consumption as man, woman, and child tore into the fruit with abandon. They sunk their teeth into elastic skin and mealy bodies. Some raised their heads, mouths full, and spit the pulpy mash high into the air. This was not done in disgust, but in triumph. Later, in the coldest hour of night when little remained, some began to fight over what was left. Others lay on the ground, eyes rolled back and fingers picking at their own bellies.

By morning, nearly all were dead and the dark seeds were carried away on the winds.