A Superficial Schism

Student Writing >> A Superficial Schism

I stand between two trees in the dead of winter. Both trees stand tall and proud. Two island worlds in an unending sea of oblivion. They used to be intertwined, but nowadays they grow apart, barely protecting me from the unforgiving winds.

The first tree had sprouted two years before its kin. The first tree had always been the spicy one. Beautiful groves of velvet and auburn graced its sides, glowing with vibrant energy. It had always stood closer to the path and had its fair share of adventure. Standing near to it always gave me new and exciting surprises. The first tree absorbed the blood and sweat from all my adventures, caring for me when I needed it most.

Now in the dead of winter, it stands undisturbed.

The second tree had always stayed under the first. Far more sheltered, the tree stands with life and green energy flowing out of every pore. Spangled stars popped up around the tree. The promise of a new life always excited me. But I always stood wary of that tree as the dead pinecones always gave its nasty bite. But in the dead of winter, it held more leaves than the first tree.

But for now, as it always has, it stands undisturbed.

Winter is a quiet time of balance for most, in which the clever creatures thrive while others suffer a quiet prolonging of death. The snowflakes fall one by one, contributing to a silence of their own as they smother the forest underneath them. If one listened long enough, and stilled the chattering of their teeth, they would eventually hear the silence broken by the crunch of a footstep or the cry of an animal.

But for now, I stand in perpetual silence.

Suddenly, the serene stillness is interrupted by a tree.

It started very gradually at first as the first tree was gently weakened by the unforgiving wind of the outside world. It creaked and slowly bent away from its neighbor to the west. It continued leaning despite the audible warning from its outermost layer. The sound grew in volume as the highest branches of the woody sentinel drew nearer to the ground. A moment had not yet passed when the point of no return was reached. The tree snapped near its base, and it crashed to the ground, the snow cushioning its fall.

The break was not definitive, and some of the bark clung together, the once vibrant tree dying of starvation, longing for either time or an axe to finish the job.

The second tree remained standing, concerned for both itself and its fallen friend. The wind blew eagerly through the space now available, howling just enough to prevent the silence of winter from returning. It brushed against the tree still standing, providing a calloused reminder of the buffer that was now lost. In that moment, the beginnings of texture began in its bark. Perhaps now it would become the target of hunters and wolves eager to mark their territory. Perhaps now, it would be seen.

I knew that there was time to save my dear tree. I could hold it on my shoulder, she sheltering me from the wind and me, bearing its weight upon my shoulders, just as Atlas did in antiquity. I knew that it was time to decide which tree I would seek in. But I, like the second tree, stayed unmoved with apathy towards our fallen partner already being buried.

One tree stood tall, but unsure, while the other lay low and unsatisfied on the ground. But both, I knew, were intertwined at the root. The roots of my trees would always be my salvation. They would never leave me unprotected no matter what. The roots will always be alive, and perhaps with time new life will emerge from its forsaken trunk, but for now it lies dying, muted screams drifting among the wailing, silver winds.

Two worlds had separated and one had emerged victorious. I sat upon the lowest hanging branch of the second tree, warming up in the leaves of the tree that had stood strong. I gazed upon the oblivion that was beyond and sighed remorsefully.

Long ago, my Thai father and American mother had planted the seeds that would become me but they had planted them apart. Father said to me when I was young, “Boy, you shall grow up to admire both of these trees here as they are part of you and are within you.” As I look upon the buried visage of the tree, I felt disappointment and profound sorrow. Today I had lost a part of me. Perhaps in the spring I may be able to grow past this but for the time being, it is no longer there.

I leap down from the branch and sit down on the frozen ground, pondering my existence. My mother appears beside me. She whispers in my ear, “Life is just a constellation of vital phenomenon: organization, movement, growth, adaption and reproduction.” She takes a seed from her pocket and puts it into my hand, gripping my hand with hers. I dig a hole with my bare hands and place the seed in it. I cover it up again and sit up against the tree. My mother sits right next to me. She says, “Now we wait for spring.”

Neither of us made a sound and the snow drifted gently down around us.

By Justin Potisit International School Eastern Seaboard Junior Dublin Literary Contest, Top Honours, 2015 with his essay ‘A Superficial Schism’