CriesInSingle

Americaya
          
          Hello
          
          
          Hello
          
          
          Hello

(3/3) I have a few moments of rest — unfortunately, those minutes do not last, because the teenagers are my next visitors. I can tell they are teenagers because they take out sharp, pointy objects and carve into my trunk meaningless letters, and the shape of a heart. It truly annoys me. Is there not any other way to portray whatever those young humans portray on harmless trees?
           After ten teenagers carve their meaningless slop, I have about two minutes before the men and the children return. The men are different from children, as they scrape bark off of my trunk using the same sharp object teenagers use, most likely for some purpose, though my mind cannot figure it out.I suddenly feel the scrape of the man’s knife interrupting my thoughts, and my branches quiver at the pain. The sun soothes the scratches from the other side, and I know that the men will soon be gone, as it is nearly the end of the afternoon. Soon the elderly will come.
           Slowly, the sun moves down, and it covers nearly the bottom of my trunk. The man stops cutting bark off of my trunk, the children leave the tree, and I am left in peace. As slowly as the sun moves, my scratches and other wounds heal. By the time the elderly come my wounds will have no more pain. Finally, I feel an elderly — a woman, no doubt, for she is skinny — lean against my trunk and press her wrinkly hand to one of my wounds very gently. It is soothing, although it sparks slight pain. Slowly she sits down and leans her back against my trunk. I feel understanding flow from the woman. She knows how it feels to be old. Perhaps the old woman was leaning on me — but I was leaning on her, as well — her understanding of pain and her sympathy for my wounds. Another elderly — a man — sits against my other side, and I fall into a slumber, comforted by the understanding of the elderly.

(2/3)  It scratches me in protest as I whip a leaf at it. Then the squirrel darts along my branch, skids to a halt, and digs its claws into me. I groan inside in protest, shaking my branch very slightly to give the animal a message that I don’t like to be a scratching post. The squirrel leaps off of my branch, thankfully. I relax again, though less comfortably: the places where the squirrel scratched will sting for a few minutes. I count the seconds until the children come to play — they always play early in the morning, every seventh day. I feel the sun on my trunk, branches, and leaves, and groan inside. Here come the children!
           I feel the first child cling to my trunk and claw his way up. The second doesn’t climb my trunk, just leaps onto my lowest branch (I know because sudden weight on my lowest branch startles me). Soon I am covered in children, crawling, bouncing (ohhh…), and yanking leaves off of me, for what purpose I don’t know. All I know is that it hurts! But unlike when I was younger, and children had just started climbing me, I had promised myself I would not harm a human. So I sit and wait out the pain until the children leave around noonday, when the sun is shining on top of me.

I found a short story that I posted on Facebook before COVID
          
           I have been standing here for more than one hundred years and yet the only thing who ever give me any respect are the elderly people. I can tell they are elderly because they don’t climb me, rip my bark off, or my leaves off, and they don’t leave squirrel droppings on me. Or nest in me, for that matter. These are the thoughts that go through my head this morning. I can feel the breeze move slowly through my branches and leaves, giving me shivers. Fall will soon come; that means I can loose my leaves painlessly. I relax into the wind and am content — until the squirrel leaves his nest. (1/2)

Love your books thank you for writing them

GUESS WHO CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP BC MY BREASTS ARE TO BIG
          THEY CUT OFF CIRCULATION TO MY ARMS IF I SLEEP ON MY SIDES
          MY BACK HURTS IF ON MY BACK
          MY BREASTS HURT ON MY FRONT
          I CAN'T FUCKING AFFORD TO SURGERY AND MY TRANSPHOBIC INSURANCE WON'T PAY FOR IT

Two things:
          I want to see Kevin McAllister in a Five night's at Freddy's movie.
          And I want Jack Black to be the next tooth fairy. (You know, the series with The Rock and the man who voiced Mater from Cars.) To be clear: I don't want Jack Black playing a character. I want Jack Black as Jack Black.

Are you planning on continuing your adopted into fablehaven series just wondering

Dо yоu prоmоte yоur bооks оn Neobook ?

My mother: gender is a construct
          My cis (ally) brother: no, it's a robot