The Tree asked me what I was doing.
I had climbed up it, high into its branches and fastened a rope around its highest point and the other end around my neck.
What does it look like I’m doing, said I, I’m trying to kill myself.
Why, asked the impertinent Tree.
Because I’m fed up with life, replied I.
The Tree laughed, its cackling rising up from its roots and resonating throughout its trunk; and what would you know about life?
I adjusted the noose around my neck and pulled it tighter. I know enough of life to know when to go, said I, my voice reduced to a whisper by the tight cord around my neck, I can’t go on living so I want to die.
The Tree rustled its leaves, careful not to throw me off. And what do you know of life, asked the Tree, its voice now echoing out of the stumps that were once its branches. I’ve stood here for hundreds of years through thick and thin, famine and floods.
Of that I have no doubt, said I looking out from under the umbrella of its foliage, at the world, for one last time.
Throughout all my troubles, in my life, said the Tree, never once did I think of taking my life.
That’s because you can’t, interjected I, you’re stuck in the ground and can’t move an inch!
Really? Again it rustled its branches violently, nearly throwing me off. How about that for not being able to move an inch?
I held on as tight as I could throughout all the rumbling and rustling suddenly feeling scared to be thrown off.
So why didn’t you fall when I tried to throw you off, teased the Tree.
So I did. I launched myself into space and after freefalling for a few seconds the rope went taut and I braced myself for the inevitable.
Surprisingly the branch snapped under my weight and I collapsed onto the ground in a heap, alive.
Bruised, I could hear the Tree laughing at me through its roots. Not from my branches are you going to kill yourself!