Max, Poor Max

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Max,

Submitted: August 05, 2012

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Submitted: August 05, 2012

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The moon smiled a Cheshire grin over the ocean as Max sank screaming to his knees. He howled and trees burst from the sand, leafless trees, beauty less trees which tangled their limbs together, fighting and thrashing their ugly branches against one another. He shed hot tears of anger and the stars began to fall, balls of fire that hit the sand with a crash and stayed burning there. He yelled and lightning shot from the cloudless night and turned the ground to glass around him. I stood and watched in the doorway attached to nothing. The ocean waves grew and grew before crashing back on themselves. The sand spun in small tornadoes in every direction. Still he howled and screamed and cursed. He pounded the ground with his fists and cracks formed along the red hot glassy sand and broke open to reveal chasms from which thorny brambles grew. Then, in front of him, grew the Tree. Not the trees he so often made, warm wooded things with red and gold leaves that drifted endlessly, and were made to strain sunlight onto the ground. This was the Tree that was rooted in his mind. That small and whithered thing with dead white bark and black leaves that was bent and twisted to the ground. That part of him he never let show. Max with that big smile, Max with those worried blue eyes. Max who gave so much and got so little. Max who sat and sobbed with throat too sore to do anything else.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t bare to see him like this and yet I couldn’t look away. Max sits on his calves with head turned down. Two black and ugly trees arched over him, frozen in their battle. The sand around him is spider cracked glass, and the ocean moves it’s waters around him, like it’s afraid. The air was charged with electricity, I could feel it on my skin, taste it on my tongue. The moon smiled it’s Cheshire grin and Max didn’t bother to care. The Tree, that evil god damn tree stood in front of him. It did not rustle for no breeze dared touch it. It simply stood and showed him. Showed him all it was and all he had. Showed him it’s deep roots, it’s thorns and ugliness. Showed it himself. The shadow Him.


© Copyright 2017 Alexander Wolff . All rights reserved.

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