Today on Drabble Wednesday come read of oddities, things out of place, and not quite right…
The Tree of Life
The emerald leaves of the deciduous tree fluttered in the breeze wafting off the lake. It appeared fresh and vibrant as the first day of spring, though all around bare branched fauna shed their leaves, shadowing the ground in a red and orange shroud.
A strange site to behold indeed, yet the tree existed, lush and green throughout winter and spring and all seasons in-between. Perpetual mist caressed it bark, fed from the lake or perhaps something more unearthly. And its branches were ripe with crimson fruit, sweet and waiting to be eaten.
The perfect temptation for all unwary fools.
The tiny creature in the crib breathed the sweetest rhythm, a soft inhale to exhale. Its chest rose and fell in time with its heart, life expelled and renewed. Pale rose pinked its cheeks, lending a cherub look, enhanced by a perfection nose and chin. Velvet fuzz of chestnut hue and curls adorned its small head.
The loving family doted on the new addition, marvelling at its disposition, for it rarely cried or fussed. They showed it off proudly and all visitors cooed, declaring it the loveliest baby ever.
And it was, save for one small thing.
It wasn’t human.
Voices leaked from between the bindings, and the smell of ancient ink and old leather. Garbled whispers wafted from the paper and hide, and sometimes screams. Its gilt—along the spine and leaf edge—glowed in unearthly tones, shifting with the tide of the air. The manuscript stood an enigma, a macabre mystery upon the dusty shelves of the library archives. It nestled in a nook, flanked by unused tomes and folios, avoided by all.
Yes, no one ever touched the book.
For the last sorry soul to lay hands on it died a madman, babbling of demons and devils.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved