Weeping Willows By StormDrake

At once the floodgates of Heaven were torn asunder, and a deluge of water came crashing down upon the Earth below. Tremendous winds gripped this water and flung it headlong into trees, buildings, and anything else foolish enough to be caught outside. Sheets of water flooded the land. Puddles became lakes. Rivers flew beyond their boundaries with such force and intent as to catch those native to the area by total surprise. Spears of lightning struck the earth one after another, followed quickly by the booming voices of thunder. The earth was quickly reduced to a sodden, desolate land; filled with trees and plants but devoid of life. No living thing dared show its head in such a tempest. No living thing, that is, save one seventeen year-old boy.

Thomas was in his element. Nothing pleased him more than to be at the centre of such a primeval force of nature. He loved the rain and wind blowing in his face. He loved feeling so insignificant in the face of the storm. This, he believed, was power most pure. And to be at the epicentre of such power was, to Thomas, to feel the hand of God Almighty as it smote the Earth.

So Thomas stood in the middle of the clearing, arms wide, face up, eyes closed, content in simply feeling the storm. He remained motionless, scarcely even breathing, for fear that he upset the natural balance. He wished with all his heart and soul that he could stay there always. Thomas could stand there all day, if he were able. Nothing would please him more than to be able to stand so until the end of time, at the centre of such a divine elemental of wind and water. Here he was at peace. Here he was happy.

For many long hours Thomas remained there in the middle of the glade, surrounded on all sides by tall oak trees. For hours he pushed back thoughts of "family," and took nature's fury. He knew that he should return home. But home seemed a thousand miles distant, under a different sky. Home was something he dared not face. Home was such a place of war and strife as to make this maelstrom seem like a mere drizzle. Home was as much a force of chaos and tempestuous power as the glade he now stood in, but the energy was corrupted by the human taints of anger, greed, and envy. The storm didn't feel sorrow. The trees, so peaceful, didn't feel sorrow. But Thomas felt sorrow when at home. He felt sorrow everywhere outside of this glade. Only here was Thomas calm and happy.

After many more hours Thomas knew with a leaden heart that it was time to return home, lest he be unable to return to the glade for the next storm. He attempted to walk away from the glade and towards his home. But he was unable to move his feet from the place he stood. Looking down, Thomas saw that his shoes were gone. His feet were covered with a thin layer of bark, and were rooted to the ground. This was both shocking and disturbing... and yet, Thomas felt perfectly calm, as if this were a natural process.

The wind and rain continued to beat furiously upon the seventeen year-old boy. But Thomas was no longer so intent upon the majesty of the storm. His attention was tuned instead to the strange metamorphosis that was now changing his body. Thomas knew that this was wrong, that he should be crying for help, or at least fearful of what was happening. But instead Thomas looked on with objective interest, as if it were happening to someone else.

As the winds continued to howl, and the storm raged on, the thin layer of bark spread up Thomas' legs. By the time it had reached his knees, his feet had begun widening, growing together and becoming much like the base of a tree. Thomas' felt his hand fall asleep, and when he looked at it he saw that it too had become covered with bark. His fingers grew into long, thin twigs, and the ends began sprouting small leaves.

Bark appeared in spots all over his body, and spread like a foul cancer. But as Thomas' body became enveloped by the bark, his body grew warm. His own flesh soothed him as nerves and muscles became wood. Thomas grew tall, out of his human clothes, as tall as the trees surrounding the glade. His hair grew long, until strands of leaves hung almost to the earth.

Finally, Thomas no longer resembled a seventeen year-old boy, but instead a seventy year-old willow tree. But this tree seemed to weep tears of happiness. Gone was all worry of a fractured home. Gone was all stress of a human existence. Thomas finally got his wish; to remain at the centre of the grove for as long as the forest stood. As his human mind faded, Thomas thanked God - or whoever was responsible for this metamorphosis - for allowing him to feel the fury of the tempest as it beat against his wooden body. He looked forward to the rest of his life, a willow at the mercy of the storm.

The rain slowly lessened, and the winds died. The sun moved on as the black clouds faded. Soon, the sun peaked out once more, and began the laborious task of drying the Earth. The willow tree at the centre of the forest glade was soon dry, its leaves blowing in a mild breeze. The sun shone brightly, and it was some time before rain returned to wet the earth again.

But the willow continued to weep.

Placed with permission of the author (StormDrake): http://www.transfur.com/stormdrake