Merciless Nature

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author owns exclusive rights to this work.

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I stand alone. In the field of grass high enough to tickle my bark three feet above the ground, I stand and I wait. It doesn't take long – it never does. My knotted branches fascinate them, and they come ever closer. If they're in large groups, I simply wait and do nothing. Too many, too fast, and they'll notice. They'll know what I am, and I have no defense against fire or blade.

So I wait, until it's only one or two that come. And then – then I smile inside as they spread out a blanket beneath my branches and set out their baskets with food and drink. I let them sup, having learned long ago that they're far easier to kill when they're full and lazily drifting to sleep with the warmth of the afternoon sun. That's when I strike.

Few notice that darkness is closing in on them as my branches block out the sunlight. Of those that do, only a few fight me before I take them, making them a part of me and wrapping them into my center. They taste the best, though, as their energy becomes a part of me and helps me to live even longer. The others are bland, but they still sustain me – and, as my food is fond of saying, “beggars can't be choosers”.

This latest pair is both bland and spicy: the woman letting herself be taken easily – surprised from behind. She shudders for a moment at the wind rustling through my leaves as my branches close in on her, swats at a couple of the twigs that scrape lightly against her arms as I move in to make her part of me. But when I grab her with my limbs and pull her to my trunk, she simply falls inside, as though she knows it's her place in life – her purpose.

He is another story. He fights me, his bare hands damaging a few of my limbs briefly. Her life force is enough to repair the damage and let me get past his weakening defenses. He twists and turns, even as I pull him into my center, his arms flailing as he scrambles to be free. And as I suck his life from him, savoring the delightful taste of his spite, enjoying the flavor of his hate – as I make him a permanent part of me, he pushes toward the outside with his neck and head. The moment I taste the last of him, he stops moving – and I have a new knot on my trunk, the bumps and crevices making a mockery of his once soft flesh.