It’s been a week or so, I think, and I’d finally say that I’ve sort of adapted to life as a tree.

Granted, the first few days consisted of me repeating “I am a tree” like a bloody mantra, as if saying it enough times would help me wake up from this dreamlike state.

Just thinking about it now fills me with embarrassment.

I am a tree. I am a tree. I am a bloody tree.

Eugh.

If I still had a forehead, I’d be buried in my hands.

It’s a miracle the squirrels didn't start laughing at me.

One thing I’ve noticed is that time moves by incredibly quickly now.

I don’t know whether that’s because I’m a tree and no longer have ordinary human perception, or if the world itself is just on fast-forward.

A sunrise used to be a twenty-minute event; now it feels like a camera flash.

The moon zips across the sky like a silver frisbee.

I feel like eventually, if I keep going like this, my perception of time will disappear completely.

I’ll blink and a century will have passed.

Which is quite worrisome.

The other weird thing? Animals really, really like me.

No clue why, either.

They pester me more than any other trees in the forest, which is weird since I’m neither the tallest, broadest, nor the most comfortable-looking.

There’s a massive obsidian oak about fifty yards away that looks way more sturdy, but no—they all want a piece of me.

Deer come and graze at my base, practically napping on my roots.

Birds are already fighting over real estate on my branches, weaving nests into me as if I’m a high-end apartment complex.

Even the jungle wolves—creatures that you would not like to be stuck within in a forest alone —turn into pampered house cats when they’re near me.

They won’t even growl at a rabbit if it’s within ten feet of my trunk.

Which is quite dumb. I mean, I’m a motionless tree, for flips sake.

I couldn't do anything if I tried.

I’m basically a divine park bench.

That’s honestly my biggest grievance.

It gets quite boring at times, just talking to the animals by myself.

There are only so many times I can say "Hello, Mr. Squirrel" before I start to feel like I’m losing my marbles.

One good thing, though, is that as every day passes, I feel like I’m becoming stronger.

Or, more accurately, my perception is increasing.

I feel more energy thrumming in my roots, a strange, electric heat that wasn't there before.

Everything in the forest is starting to get clearer, as if someone is slowly turning up the resolution on a grainy old monitor.

Not to mention, I feel like I’ve grown quite a bit since last week.

I’m still a far cry from the other great obsidian trees, but it’s progress nonetheless.

I’m no longer just a sapling; I’m starting to look like I actually belong in this prehistoric landscape.

Although I wished I was taken a little more seriously.

You see, this one squirrel in particular has been making a habit of using my lower branches as his personal gym.

He’s a twitchy little thing, always burying nuts he’ll definitely forget and chattering at me like I’m the one being unreasonable.

"Hey, Mr. Squirrel," I thought, trying to project a sense of neighborly greeting toward my left bough.

"Watch the bark, yeah? That’s my literal skin you're digging those claws into."

The squirrel stopped, tilted its head, and stared at a knot in my wood with those unblinking, beady eyes.

"I’ve known you for a couple of days now," I continued, since I literally had nothing else to do.

"I feel like calling you 'Mr. Squirrel' is a bit of a disservice."

"Everyone deserves a name."

"You might already have a name in squirrel-language, and if you do, I’m sorry for the ignorance."

"But since I can't ask, why don't we go with Peckham?"

"Peckham the Squirrel."

It felt right; he had that frantic, hustling energy of the Peckham high street back in London.

The little guy seemed to consider this, then went right back to pecking at a small, glowing fissure in my branch which had just appeared a second ago.

As he nibbled, I noticed a tiny, faint glow beginning to pulse behind his eyes.

It was a minute change—a minor shimmer in his fur—almost impossible for anyone else to see.

But I saw it.

I felt a sudden, sharp pull at the base of my trunk, like a tiny straw was drinking from my very soul.

"Whoa, easy there, Peckham," I whispered mentally, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit me like a physical blow.

"What are you... why am I so..."

My consciousness started to fray at the edges, the vibrant greens of the forest blurring into a heavy, dark velvet.

"Oh my days," I groaned, my thoughts turning to lead.

"Why is my consciousness slipping... just from one... squirrel..."

The last thing I perceived was Peckham twitching his tail, looking significantly more energetic than he had a moment ago.

Then, the dark took me.

***

When I finally woke up, the world was a different colour, as the night sky shone.

How many days I'd been concked ot for I don't know, but it was frustrating losing my time streak that i had going on.

That tiny little rodent, barely the size of a shoe, had somehow managed to siphon off some juice to knock me into a coma.

It was weird as few animals who had stolen sap didnt provoke such a reaction, but this time i felt as if the squirrell had gained part of my essence.

Statistically offensive. Why does this happen to me.

I immediately checked my left bough.

Peckham was gone, but the fissure he had been pecking at wasn't.

Well regardless, there was no point losing sleep about it.

Quite literally.

What's done was done, but best believe the next time I saw that rodent Peckham we would have a word.