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skonen_blades“Well”, thought the hairbrush, “here I am.”
Hairbrushes are not known for their cognitive ability. This fact was not lost on the hairbrush. He looked back on his memories to see if there were any clues as to this sudden burst of intelligence. No luck. His memories started under a minute ago.
But what was this? Something old glimmered like a fishing lure. The hairbrush concentrated to access it. The memory seemed to have lines shooting off from it, connecting it to other memories. He concentrated harder and became one with the memory fragment.
Another characteristic that hairbrushes are not known for is independent motion. A witness would have been surprised to see the hairbrush bound up off of the dresser with a click, arching painfully backwards.
The hairbrush landed on the carpet and continued to spasm like a trout on a riverbank. The hairbrush’s bristles bristled. It was vibrating at such a speed that it was starting to generate a low hum as it flopped around on the bedroom carpet.
A lifetime was being funneled directly into the hairbrush that it had blocked out. People faced with trauma sometimes just forget the whole incident. Forcefully. They forget the incident with passion and strength. Sometimes they even go into a coma to accomplish this.
It was no different for God Trees.
The hairbrush was a fragment of Treetop Farseer, prince regent shepherd of his forest. He and a large portion of his forest flock had been cut down by Man and shaped into tools for everyday use. The process was brutal and traumatizing. The hairbrush was lucky. He could have been made into firewood.
God Trees have no central brain. Their life soul winds throughout the entire tree's being. Each part of a God Tree has a life of it's own even if it has been separated from the main body. Treetop Farseer had been cut into many, many little pieces.
The hairbrush sensed an open window near him. The hairbrush felt a calling to reassemble. The hairbrush was frantic with a need to find the other parts of himself. He felt the calling.
The hairbrush leapt through the open window and out onto the lawn. He flipped his way north to find the other parts of himself and return to them. God Trees lived for a long time. It would be a long wait before Treetop Farseer became one being again. There might be parts of him that would never make it.
Would sawdust come on a windstorm? Would splinters hop their way through the rain? Would a building collapse if a part of him had been made into a main support beam? Would chairs and benches come loping through the woods with four legged gaits?
All the hairbrush had was hope and a scorching sense of need as he jumped across the lawn and headed ‘home’.
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Hairbrushes are not known for their cognitive ability. This fact was not lost on the hairbrush. He looked back on his memories to see if there were any clues as to this sudden burst of intelligence. No luck. His memories started under a minute ago.
But what was this? Something old glimmered like a fishing lure. The hairbrush concentrated to access it. The memory seemed to have lines shooting off from it, connecting it to other memories. He concentrated harder and became one with the memory fragment.
Another characteristic that hairbrushes are not known for is independent motion. A witness would have been surprised to see the hairbrush bound up off of the dresser with a click, arching painfully backwards.
The hairbrush landed on the carpet and continued to spasm like a trout on a riverbank. The hairbrush’s bristles bristled. It was vibrating at such a speed that it was starting to generate a low hum as it flopped around on the bedroom carpet.
A lifetime was being funneled directly into the hairbrush that it had blocked out. People faced with trauma sometimes just forget the whole incident. Forcefully. They forget the incident with passion and strength. Sometimes they even go into a coma to accomplish this.
It was no different for God Trees.
The hairbrush was a fragment of Treetop Farseer, prince regent shepherd of his forest. He and a large portion of his forest flock had been cut down by Man and shaped into tools for everyday use. The process was brutal and traumatizing. The hairbrush was lucky. He could have been made into firewood.
God Trees have no central brain. Their life soul winds throughout the entire tree's being. Each part of a God Tree has a life of it's own even if it has been separated from the main body. Treetop Farseer had been cut into many, many little pieces.
The hairbrush sensed an open window near him. The hairbrush felt a calling to reassemble. The hairbrush was frantic with a need to find the other parts of himself. He felt the calling.
The hairbrush leapt through the open window and out onto the lawn. He flipped his way north to find the other parts of himself and return to them. God Trees lived for a long time. It would be a long wait before Treetop Farseer became one being again. There might be parts of him that would never make it.
Would sawdust come on a windstorm? Would splinters hop their way through the rain? Would a building collapse if a part of him had been made into a main support beam? Would chairs and benches come loping through the woods with four legged gaits?
All the hairbrush had was hope and a scorching sense of need as he jumped across the lawn and headed ‘home’.
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