Sam was a tree.

          You see, Sam was a kind tree. The kindest, if you asked her. She let Nymphs nuzzle on her soft, red, velvety bark. She allowed Centaurs to graze upon her delicious huckleberries that bloomed from her leaves in the winter. She even allowed the Ogres to sleep by her trunk. No tree in the forest let the Ogres so close to their precious sap. But Sam did. Because Sam was a kind tree.

          But, remember, she wasn’t a great tree. Great trees grew tall and spread wide. Great trees protected little critters from the many suns. Great trees sheltered Fairies from the violent winds.

          Sam couldn’t be a great tree. Sure, she was nuzzled by Nymphs and grazed by Centaurs. Sure, even the Ogres were thankful for her shade while the other trees denied them. But that didn’t make Sam great. That made her kind. A great tree could be nuzzled by hundreds, grazed by thousands, and have enough Ogres underneath their canopy to fill a lake. All trees were that large. But Sam was not.

          Sam was a pebble surrounded by mountains. Those mountains grew tall with trunks the width of cities and leaves the length of elephants. But Sam? She was different. Sure, she could fit a Nymph or two. A Centaur or four. Maybe a pair of Ogres. But her trunk? It was the size of a pond. Her leaves? Barely the size of a head.

          If it weren’t for her parents whose trunks stood miles beside her and canopies completely covered her, she would be dead. But her lovely parents kept the area where she stood lit by sun. An endless forest of darkness, but she was the light.

          So, no, Sam was not great. She could never be great.

          But then, Billy arrived.

          Sam had heard of these “humans” before. She thought it to be rumor, but no. There he was. Billy.

          She knew it was his name because of her magical connection to the world. Or, maybe it was the fact that the kid said, “Hi, my name’s Billy,” when he arrived. Regardless, she was aghast to see one of these humans in real life.

          Billy had the beauty of a Nymph, the dexterity of a Centaur, and the rotten stench of an Ogre. Though, she didn’t mention that to Billy.

          “What’s your name?” Billy asked.

          Sam shook her leaves in response, a sign of caution. Sam would not be swayed by this majestic human. She had heard all the rumors. Including the ones of these humans burning the land, torching her kin, and…worst of all…stealing their precious sap.

          “It’s okay,” Billy said. “I don’t bite.”

          A trickster, he was. That must be it. After all, Sam was small and not so great. That’s why the human must’ve come to her.

          Sam caused her roots to ripple, knocking the little boy onto his back. Billy giggled.

          Curses.

          “Hah! That was fun!” Billy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his little, blue jeans. “Again, again!”

          Curses. Billy taunted her majestic-ness. She needed to show him her true power.

          Sam shook her branches, causing several of her leaves to fall onto Billy. Including her special leaves.

          Billy, of course, pranced around the leaves as if they were harmless snowflakes.

          How did that fail? Sam thought. When her special leaves fell to the ground, an awful aroma plagued the forest for miles. No Nymph or Centaur, Ogre or Fairy could survive such a stench. But Billy. He thrived in it.

          Billy nudged up to her trunk and hugged her. Sam reverberated the ground in response.

          “Oooo! Ahhhh.” Billy smiled.

          Billy even survived her greatest defense. It was useless. No wonder the humans were able to terrorize her kin. Sam was hopeless. Defeated.

          She surrendered.

          “Mr. Billy,” Sam spoke. “Please don’t take my sap. I’m a kind tree, I swear it.”

          Billy, still hugging her, looked baffled. “Miss tree, I don’t want your sap.”

          “You don’t’?”

          “No, silly!”

          “Then…why have you come?”

          Billy sat down onto the grass. He looked up, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, for a magical forest this sure hasn’t been all too fun.” He twirled around in the grass as he spoke. “The trees are so large, the branches so high and mighty. There’s nowhere to play!” Billy looked down and frowned, but quickly looked back up with a grin. “But that was until I found you! You’re awesome!”

          A few of Sam’s leaves dropped uncontrollably. Her trunk shuddered. “You think I’m Awesome?”

          Billy started climbing Sam, using all of her branches. All of her perfect branches, perfectly within reach.

          “Yah,” Billy giggled as he finally made it to the top. He rested on a nook between branches. “I think you’re great!”

This story was a writing exercise based on the following prompt: Your character has to walk into a magical forest

The post A Boy and A Tree first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post A Boy and A Tree appeared first on The Writing Forge.

The post The Jungle first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Jungle appeared first on The Writing Forge.

“Hullo there Jimmy, guid mornin’ to ye’.”

“Not today, desk, I’m really not in the mood.”

“Nut in the mood, eh? What’s bringing me laddie down?”

“Well, it’s…nothing.”

“Can’t be nutin’ laddie, there’s gots to be sometin’ on ye’ mind.”

I looked out my window thinking of the day to come. I sighed and put my arm on my desk.

“Ouch!” my desk said. “Jimmy! Watch ye’ elbow!”

“Sorry,” I adjusted my arm.

“No worries, laddie. Now, what’s bringin’ ye’ down?”

A lot, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t have it in me. Plus, it was still…strange. It had only been a few months since everything made from wood came to life and reached sentience. The invention was supposed to solve deforestation. Instead, it created new species of talking wood.

“Laddie?”

“Sorry, desk. A lot is on my mind.”

“Well let me help ye’.”

I sighed and was about to give in, but then a whisper came from my backpack on the floor.

“Pssst. Hey, Jimbo.” It was my pencil. He was a talker. “If the desk is giving you trouble, I’ll take care of him. The Scots pine is an annoying bunch.”

My desk laughed. “Oh yeh, I’m so scurred of ye’ ole number two. Jimmy, go write a few essays to get rid of dis guy.”

“Jimbo!” pencil yelled. “Let me at him! Write on the desk, Jimbo! I swear, I’ll scrape his top off!”

“No ye’ won’t!”

“Yes I will!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Guys!” I yelled. “Can we just-“

A commotion outside cut me short. I opened up the window. Two deep, reverberating voices boomed.

“Stoooooop doiiiiiiing thaaaaaaaaat.”

“Noooooo, youuuuu stooooooop ittttttttttt.”

It was my family oak trees in the front yard. They were arguing, again. I shouted out to them.

“What is it this time? What could it possibly be this time?”

They both shouted at once. I couldn’t understand a word.

“One at a time!” I yelled.

They stopped. My desk and pencil whispered below me.

“Ye’ laddie. Tell em’, Jimmy.”

“Yah, get em’, Jimbo.”

The bigger tree spoke first. “Heeeeeee keeeeeeeps bruuuushhhhhing intooooooo meeeeee!”

The other tree jumped in. “Noooooooo, heeeeeee keeeeps bruuuushing intooooo meeeee!”

I smacked my head. “Guys! It’s the wind. That’s all. It’s neither of your fault. Now, both of you stop complaining! I’ve had enough today.”

I slammed the window shut. I heard their muffled voices say, “Looooook, youuuuu maddeeeee Jimmmm maddddddd,” and, “Noooooo, youuuu maddddee himmmmm maddddd.”

I ignored the rest of it and collapsed back onto my desk. My desk spoke up.

“Jimmy, it’s alright laddie. Let it out.”

My pencil jumped in. “Yah, Jimbo, you can write as much as you want today. I won’t get tired, I swear. Feel better, Jimbo.”

I sat up and wiped the frustration from my eyes.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeh, Jimmy” my desk said. “Always here for ye’. What’s been in ye’ head if ye’ don’t mind me askin’?”

I thought about telling them, but decided against it. I felt guilty. I could never tell them.

“It was nothing, really,” I said with shame.

I couldn’t believe I even considered reversing my invention. I created the sentient wood, and I was about to put an end to it. But I couldn’t. They meant too much to me.

I said goodbye to my desk and picked up my backpack. My pencil and I were ready for another day. Another day of defending my invention to the world. I had a 60 Minutes interview later. That was going to be fun…

Who knew a silly school project was going to lead to this?

This story was a writing exercise based on the following prompt: In an attempt to combat the global deforestation an inventor found a way to restore the earth. The catch? Every single piece of timber, all the processed wood everywhere slowly started living again.

The post Wood You Believe it! first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post Wood You Believe it! appeared first on The Writing Forge.

“What? Who goes there?”

You, Piggy, I’m talking to you. It’s me, the narrator.

“What is this voice in my head? What’s going on?”

Piggy, I-

“Get out of my head, this is madness!”

Piggy-

“Out! Get out!”

But-

“Leave!”

PIGGY, LISTEN!

Piggy sat on his hind legs in submission.

“I AM NOT SUBMITTING!”

Shut-up.

Anyway, Piggy waited patiently as the narrator prepared to explain why he would soon die.

“DIE? WHAT? No. I’ll get out of this. I can escape the wolf.”

Little did Piggy know, he could not escape the wolf. Two-hundred-thirty-nine of his kind had died at the hands of this beast. This would be-

“Two-hundred…thirty-nine…what? How? Is my family okay?”

They are dead.

Piggy sat in silence, stunned by the narrator’s words. Piggy didn’t know that the narrator was just joking.

“What! Don’t joke about that. That’s horrible.”

Piggy had no sense of humor, but the narrator ignored it. The narrator wanted to explain to Piggy how to survive this wretched wolf.

“Please do.”

Sure. In Piggy’s hand, a .40 cal appeared.

“Woah, what the hell. How did this get here? Did you just speak that into existence? How am I even holding thi-“

And a Tutu dress appeared around his waist.

“Hey! Not funny!”

Piggy, again, failed to recognize objectively good comedy.

“It’s not funny.”

It was.

“It’s not.”

Piggy was unable to speak after a random roll of tape dropped from the ceiling and closed his mouth shut.

Ah, that’s much better.

The uranium around Piggy had turned to mush. The wolf had been stalking Piggy, waiting to pounce, but he waited. And waited. And waited.

Suddenly, the wolf sprung to attack. He jumped from the rubble, scaring Piggy senseless.

Piggy muffled something into the tape that was probably very pathetic. He shot the .40 cal at the wolf, but there weren’t any bullets.

Piggy continued to shout into the tape. It was getting rather annoying. The tape magically ripped off of him.

“FINALLY! WHAT THE HELL! JUST PUT BULLETS IN THIS THING! THIS WOLF IS ABOUT TO EAT ME!”

Stop shouting.

“Please.”

Because Piggy said the magic word and submitted once again to the great and all mighty narrator-

“I am NOT submitting!”

Would you like me to take your bullets away?

“I am submitting.”

Piggy smartened up. He pointed the now loaded gun at the big, bad wolf and shot it dead.

“Wow…thank you narrator. You actually saved me.”

No problem, Piggy. Let’s have some more fun. What do you want to do next?

“Wait, you’re not leaving? What-“

Suddenly, one-hundred wolves appeared around Piggy.

“NOOOOOO-“

This story was a writing exercise based on the following prompt: The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn’t matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium.

The post The Last Little Pig first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Last Little Pig appeared first on The Writing Forge.