Back to Nature
by Doug Linger and Jon Sleeper

©1998


Mark pushed back the flaps of his tent and looked around. Softly he walked to the edge of camp. His parents were still at the fire, and he didn't want them to know he was leaving. With one last look around in the moonlight, so he could find his way back, he was gone.

Damn them for bring me out here anyway, the young teen thought angrily. He'd been there a day already, and was already bored out of his skull. There was nothing to do. No TV, no movies, no Sega. Just trees. Hell, I wasn't even allowed to bring any books! Not that he read them anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.

He'd argued about it ever since he'd first discovered where they planned to take him. He could have stayed alone, or at a friend's. But they'd said that he needed to get back to nature, and despite all his logic, and his begging, they took him along.

Mark stomped angrily around for a minute or so, kicking at the dirt and a few small bushes. He stopped suddenly when he realized his parents might hear him, but after holding still for a short time, he concluded that he was far enough away. Distance and foliage would muffle any noises he would make.

His inhibitions gone, he worked a branch off the nearest tree. It wasn't dead yet, but it wasn't like it mattered. Bough in hand, he began to thrash the nearby greenery in earnest.

"Two" thwack "fucking " thwack "weeks" thwack "here!" thwack thwack thwack...

He swung the limb behind him, aiming at a particularly offensive mid-sized oak. A sudden gust of wind from the otherwise calm night caught the leaves still remaining on it, making it difficult to swing. Mark struggled for a moment with it for a few moments. "Damn it...!" The tree itself suddenly bent under the onslaught of air, and with a classic thunk the trunk hit him in the head.

Mark dropped the branch as he staggered back. He looked uncomprehendingly at the tree for a few moments. Then with a cry of rage he began heaving it out of the soil.

The tree was not large enough to hold out against him, and eventually gave way. Mark looked at it, half ashamed, but then laughed. "I guess that tree won't be hitting anyone else! Ha!" He looked around, looking for other trees to uproot. It had been fun the first time, so why not again? Mark had been with the "in" crowd, but had never been much for bullying; nevertheless, he suddenly felt its lure.

He moved to another tree, only a sapling this time, and quickly bent it until it broke. "I should do this in front of Dad," he said. "See if he ever brings me out *here* again."

"I would indeed be happy should he never bring you back," came a soft voice from behind. "But that would still leave me with two weeks of your abuse, and that I cannot abide."

Mark started at the sound and spun around, ready with a snappy comeback, then stopped cold. The woman who had chided him was incredibly beautiful. It seemed to radiate from inside as well as out, something he had always thought merely an expression before. The oddest thing about her by far was the fact she was naked in the forest, miles from nowhere -- much less anywhere.

"Who the hell are you?" he said instead. She was obviously not a ranger. Perhaps there was some sort of nudist colony nearby. The idea excited him; that would sure make this accursed "vacation" less boring!

"I am the dryad Calida," she responded matter-of-factly.

Mark cocked his head, his gaze raising for a second to her face before dropping again to view her other assets. "What's a dryad?"

"We are beings tied to the forest, and especially to trees. Your actions this night are an affront against Nature, and myself."

Ah, an eco-nut. That explains the nudity as well. Dryad must be their group's name, like Earth First. "Oh, don't get yourself in a snit. They're just trees. They'll grow back."

"Just trees? Trees are life itself! Without them you yourself could not exist!"

Mark grinned and moved a few steps to another sapling. Before Calida could stop him he snapped it in half like the other. "Seems I'm living just fine without these trees," he said in a what're-you-gonna-do-about-it? tone.

Calida drew herself up, her face red with outrage. "You dare! Your destruction earlier I was willing to attribute to mere anger and childishness, but this is pure villainy, which must be punished."

Mark laughed at her words. They were just too egotistical to take seriously. "Right, lady. You call the cops and report my abuse of trees. I'm sure I'll get life in prison for it." He started to walk back to camp; it was late, and no doubt his family would want him to go hiking again tomorrow. "In the meantime, I'm going to bed."

He only got a few steps before almost falling on his face. He had suddenly been unable to walk, as if his shoes were glued to the ground. As he looked down in puzzlement, his shoes came apart at the seams with a soft tearing sound. What looked in the moonlight like large worms, or perhaps small snakes, emerged and buried one end in the soil. "What...?"

"You are becoming a tree," Calida said. "No more will you destroy the forest; instead you shall add to its beauty."

"Oh, give me a break," Mark said, rolling his eyes. But they widened as his feet swelled out of his shoes and merged. They grew brown and rough and were growing numb, but yet... he could still feel them. The joining slowly moved up his legs, pushing his jeans uncomfortably higher. He desperately tried to move his feet, and failed.

"Make it stop!" he cried, suddenly letting go of disbelief. If she knows what's going on, then she surely knows how to stop it! But Calida merely shook her head and observed his continuing metamorphosis.

A significantly louder rip than his shoes had given announced the ruin of his pants as the change reached his thighs. Within another minute his legs had entirely merged into a tree's trunk. Mark looked on in horror as the barky stiffness approached his groin. "I'll stop! I won't hit trees again! Ever! I'll... I'll join Greenpeace! I'll help nature for the rest of my life! Please!" he pleaded.

"Your crimes will not go unpunished. You shall indeed help nature, in the best and most direct way."

He looked down again, and saw that the change had progressed to his stomach area. He felt a momentary anger at what he had lost, but it was quickly overcome by a new wave of panic. His body was growing an alarming bulge, just to the left of his sternum. Over the next minute or so, a branch poked out from underneath his shirt, small but thickening and branching further as the bark crept up his skin. He was particularly alarmed by the leaves at the tips.

When the change was approaching his shoulders his shirt tore off. That snapped him out of the shock he'd been in. If he didn't stop this now, there's be nothing left to stop. "Help! Mom! Dad! Help me! I'm being kidnapped!" That ought to get them running. It was even true, sort of.

"They are too far away, and asleep not besides." Calida shook her head once more. "Why are you so afraid? Life as a tree is a fine one. It will be long, and you shall want for nothing. And you will be under my protection, for you will be a part of my grove."

"I'll be dead, that's why!" he responded as he felt his arms involuntarily raising themselves and stiffening. "Trees don't think!"

"You mortals do not know as much about nature as you believe. Trees do think, and so shall you."

Mark would have answered, but the bark had reached his neck, and he no longer had vocal chords. He couldn't turn his head either, and had to look out of his peripheral vision as his hands splayed out and his fingers grew into leafy twigs. Within another minute, he couldn't even do that, as his eyes changed. And then it was done.

Despite Calida's words, he was surprised to find he still could feel and think. It felt different, to be sure; he could feel the sparse moonlight on his leaves, and the water in the soil, and even the wind, but it was different than warmth or thirst or touch. Had he been able to speak, he'd have been hard pressed to describe it.

A fine oak you shall make, Calida's voice sounded in his mind. Apparently she could commune with trees somehow, which was hardly surprising after what she had already done. Already you make my grove more beautiful. I am glad you have joined us.

Then her voice fell silent. Mark could tell she was not gone; she had merely returned to her duties, keeping watch over her grove, nurturing her trees. And him.



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