Tree

I've never been one to be afraid. No normal man feels terror at the tooth of bark beneath their fingers. This Tree bothers me though. Touching is seems like touching the hand of an unpleasant sort of fellow. It's like I'm giving Charon the fare for my journey. But instead of gold or promises, the price is my life. With a frown tweaking the corner of my mouth, I move my fingers. A sliver of breath  between my calloused flesh and the white bark. But it feels like an eternity away. My gray eyes cast themselves up, up towards the twisting, gnarled branches of this Tree. Nothing about them should be frightening. They've still got their leaves which rustle with the fall wind. Still green. It looks like they should be turning soon, but they don't. They never have. Green against that stark whiteness. It's not like the Tree of Gondor, though. It's as bright, but in it I find no hope. I don't seem to want to focus on the leaves. They shift in and out of focus, like they're trying to turn my head away from the fruit upon their branches. It's a pretty,  smooth fruit that I imagine has a pulpy texture. Maybe like a plum. I could have a plum if I wanted - it's just a little ways back in my orchard. But they aren't really in season, either. Still, that fruit in this Tree looks..good. Orangy purple with flecks of green and yellow. And smooth. 

I have to take my eyes off of it. It makes me dizzy to look too long at the leaves that want me to play hide and seek. So I lean against the trunk and my back grows cold. It brings an ache to the teeth in the back of my mouth. A tugging. I grind my teeth a little, but it doesn’t do any good. It’s a marriage of electricity and power. But the cold is what grips me. A few seconds longer and I may have gone mad – so I pull away. The gray falls from my eyes. Green again. I could not see my own eyes, of course, but I knew. They would be a dusky, pine-needle green for awhile. They’d get bright again. They always did, right?

The Tree whispered something, but I missed it. And I was glad. The voice was as cold as the bark, but it drilled into the soul instead of the skin. I left. I had to; the Tree would’ve harassed me.

I was told to stay away from it anyway.