The Core of the Tree

He knew he needed to seek shelter, at least for the night anyway, needing to be away from the wreckage of his home. He thought of the fallen limb.

“I’ll head for the tree!” Conover jumped up, remembering the behemoth of an old oak he played in when he was very young.

It was a massive thing, with limbs that reached out in every direction. Although thick and solid in appearance, the heart of the tree was quite hollow.

So off he ran, jumping over fallen limbs and trudging through brush and bramble. Conover finally spotted the oak. Not having used the sanctuary since he was a child, he had to scour about overgrowth to find the entrance.

“I know it’s somewhere close!”

He anxiously searched about, very aware of the danger that might still loom around him. He knew that once he found the opening, it was only a short crawl to safety.

After ripping away more brush, and feeling about the muck-covered ground, Conover finally rediscovered the way in. The core of the tree had opened, after many years of heavy rains a long time before. He crawled into the cavity, moving toward the inner sanctuary of the tree.

He slid through slimy muck and pushed aside unseen crawling things before finally entering the inner bosom of the old tree. Once inside, his back slumped against the inner bark, he could finally recover his breath which eluded him for the better part of that terrible evening.

Wiping sweat and dirt from his brow, Conover began sinking into a recollection of the horrors he witnessed and survived. Tears streamed down his soil-covered cheeks, his head started to throb, and his breathing intensified.

“Why did this happen, Joven? Have we been wrong in our lives?” Conover asked aloud to his god. He bent his head and prayed. He had never been certain of Joven’s existence before, but exhausted and uncertain, his family lost forever, he desperately clung to the old stories that gave him hope that something might help him survive this tragedy.

After his fervent prayers, using the pinholes of light from the two moons that penetrated the bark of the tree, Conover gazed out. He spied movement in the night sky, trickles of light that flew through the air, like fireflies in springtime. The lights continued to play in circles, making him feel strangely nauseated. And then he collapsed in exhaustion, upon the moist, dirt-laden floor. The tree once more provided a sanctuary, a hiding place, this time from the devastating horrors of the outside world.