A Grassy Hole

To be continued

I walked face-first into a tree.

It’s been something that I’ve been doing a lot lately.

The tree, of course, didn’t react. It simply sat there, oblivious to the fact that I had accosted it with my nose. The bark was completely unscathed, unruffled, and definitely not budging.

I however, walked away with much less demure. In the face-off between my nose and the tree, my nose had lost. The nose, dented, scratched, and a little bloody, looked worse for the wear. I stumbled back, reeling a bit from the pain, then wandered back into the field.

Before me and around me stretched a great big grass field. It was probably about a 1/4 mile wide and a mile long. Flowers were dotted here and there around the field; really, it was a very beautiful sight. Above the field stretched power lines, crackling with electricity. They were held by two, large metal bases, one on either side of the field.

Surrounding the field was a wall of tall, wooden trees, stretching up seemingly hundreds of feet into the sky. Each tree grew so close to one another that they were all but indistinguishable, less than one inch apart with smooth, consistently colored bark. Branches dozens of feet above the ground occasionally dropped apples.

I picked an apple off the ground and examined it to make sure it wasn’t full of worms. Taking a bite, I began to walk along the tree line, munching loudly. The ground was flat. The grass was green. The trees were brown. The powerlines were humming.

As usual.

I had been here for about a week now. I wasn’t sure how I got here, or what I was doing here. In fact, I remembered just about nothing. All I knew was that there were powerlines, trees, grass, and apples. Apples were the most important part. Imagine how hungry I would be if there weren’t any apples. To be fair, I wasn’t sure if they actually were apples. I just called them that because they were red and crunchy.

I made a full lap, finding no gaps in the trees. It was probably the thousandth time I’d done it this week. There wasn’t much of anything to see besides smooth bark and green grass. I tried punching one of the trees, but it only hurt my hand.

Why not climb the powerlines, you might ask? Well, I was pretty sure they were filled with electricity. Every time I came close, my hair stood on end and the crackling sound got really loud. I figured it wasn’t worth the risk. Anyways, if I really needed a way out, I knew what to do.

Better transition

Suddenly, I heard a large crack. Turning around, I saw a tree across the field, blown by a gust of wind, begin to lean and groan. Slowly, it tipped over into the the field, gaining speed as it fell, landing with a huge thump on the grassy field. I could feel the reverberations of its fall under my feet, and stumbled a bit.

Finally, it seemed, I had a way out. There was a hole in the wall of trees. Thankfully, the powerlines were taller than the trees, so none of them were damaged. Also, thankfully, I was hundreds of feet away when it fell. Not only was I safe, it looked like I finally had a means of escape from my grassy, apple-filled prison.

I jogged over to the fallen tree, plucked an apple off one of its branches, and cautiously began approaching the gap in the trees. There, I saw a valley dropping off, with rows of houses below, and mountains framing the horizon. It seemed that my cage of trees sat at the top of hill, and overlooked a magnificent view.

Yet a furred beast — I think a coyote — appeared in the gap between the trees. Scars dotted its face, as if it had lived through many fights in its lifetime. Its fur was mangled, twisted, and bloody, its eyes bloodred and menacing. Old, ferocious, and full of vigor, it growled, baring its sharply pointed teeth at me.

I flinched, ready to run, or fight, if need be. I didn’t know if I stood a chance against this angry looking brute, but I was ready if he did decide to spring. However, to my surprise, he simply sat down in the gap. Not attacking, yet not retreating, the dog rested his behind on the snapped tree—almost as if he were guarding the exit.

When I walked closer, he would stand up and growl again; when I backed away, he seemed placated. At all times the coyote’s eyes watched me, unblinking, unmoving. Sitting on the fallen tree, he blocked the only means of escape I could possibly hope to acquire. Rather than being a danger, it seemed the coyote acted as some sort of guardian, preventing me from leaving the cage of trees I found myself hidden in.

I sat there on the far end of the tree, looking longingly through the gap in the trees. All I wanted was to be released from this prison—yet I was trapped. A means of escape had presented itself—yet I could not leave.

What could I do?