The Little Stump

The enchanted forest has become a toxic wasteland. Any sign of magic and wonder was poisoned by the murky waters of human consumption. The vicious river that came from the factories blossomed new life into the trees. But a life that was neither thriving nor dying.

The leaves talked to each other. Instead of whispers and giggles, they’d hiss and curse as the wind blew between the branches. If one was to touch them, it’d be as if a knife swiped at them. When they fell from the tree, they didn’t delicately float down to the ground; they’d crash as a dagger trying to impale someone would.

The colors were different. They were stark and bright; the same colors that a poisonous frog wears. Under the moonlight, the forest glowed. Almost as if the toxic waste seeped through its veins. Bleeding out the toxins and releasing them into the air.

That’s why the forest smelled differently. To a human it’d be suffocating. Their lungs would itch and burn with every breath. Their nose would sting as the tiny hairs inside turned to crisp. Then the coughing began to cast out the hostile air. 

Until they stopped breathing.

And that’s why humans never got close to the forest. They knew what they created, so they stayed far, far away from it. Always avoiding their consequences. Always pretending they don’t exist.

Otherwise, they’d know that not everything in that forest was corrupted. There were still some remnants of magic hidden between the rotting soil and stagnant air. If they were to look closely, they’d still see the beauty the enchanted forest left behind.

A tree stump that was cut down years ago sprouted new life. A cute little pumpkin with a small green leaf on the top.

And a pair of black, beady eyes. 

It blinked into a state of consciousness. Taking in the world around it. It grew and grew until the stump became a little body of its own with a pumpkin for a head. 

Its arms were thin with long and thorny fingers, to resemble the sickly trees. The rest of its body, while that of a stump, dripped of swampy soil that looked more like tar. And its feet, curiously, took the shape of a crow’s.

While the little stump had everything it needed, it just didn’t have a mouth. Although, it seemed as if it didn’t really care all that much. It didn’t notice this one thing that it was missing. It just wandered through the forest in the spirit of curiosity, bobbing its heavy head as it learned about its home.

However, once it got bored of looking at the poisonous plants and evading aggressive critters, it started to look for something in particular. It checked every stump it could find, inspecting it from head to toe. Particularly, searching for something on top.

When it rubbed the age rings of the stump while touching its pumpkin head, it was clear. It searched for something like it. Maybe something like a family.

How peculiar that a creature made from toxic waste and magic would want to know of any kin. Not even knowing what it was itself. Perhaps some human qualities spilled from that treacherous river that it now shows up in a little tree stump.

But who is to say longing was a distinct human trait?

For the little stump, it came as second nature. The feeling of belonging with others. A wish that might not even be fulfilled.

Yet, the little stump doesn’t stop. It ignored the pitiful glances of birds and squirrels. It didn’t care that the spiders and insects cackled at it. It wanted a family, and that’s all that mattered to it.

“Even if you dig you won’t find anything.”

“Little Stump, stop doing that. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

“It doesn’t look like it thinks much even with such a big head.”

“Little Stump, you don’t have a family.”

There was never an answer from the small creature. It just looked up with its bright and beady eyes. Not much emotion shown on its face. It couldn’t either way. Just a blank stare that never gave away what it thought.

It simply kept digging and searching. No sign of stopping. No sign of heartbreak.

Seasons passed. The forest changed. Many plants died. Many critters as well. 

The trees and soil have begun to reject the toxicity. This was bound to happen at some point. With the poison having nowhere to go, it seeped deeper into their stems. The glow under the moonlight turned brighter, but in the way that the trees are burning from the inside.

If it was hostile before, it was even worse now. The only communication between the living creatures are howls, growls and, sometimes, even curses. The magic was drying up. No trace of what it was once before. Soon it’ll be a myth, a legend, at least for those that lived long enough to see its old glory days.

However, if one was lucky, they’ll find one last remnant of the magic. The little stump with the pumpkin for a head. While the years of woes passed in the blink of an eye, the stump managed to remain the same.

The exact same.

A forever child lost in its mind of wonder and innocence. For it never stopped searching for a little family. 

Then one particular day, when the fog was denser and more potent, it heard a peculiar sound. One it never heard in the forest before. It sounded sweet, inviting, and joyful. Even if the little stump never learned what these things were; for it was accustomed to anything but warmth and care.

It ventured to the edge of the forest, where the brush started to rot from outside in. Far off from the forest the land stretched for miles and miles. The color of wheat was overshadowed by the stark and dour colors of the forest.

The little stump slumped its little shoulder as it stared off into the distance. Like a little sigh after being surprised by such an odd, yet calming, sight. 

It looked at the ground, seeing dirt that didn’t give off a raunchy smell. As it took a little, soft step, its foot didn't sink in. The slime coming from its legs were the ones getting the ground dirty. Little prints of its crow feet left a small trail behind it.

Then it heard it again.

It tilted its large head, leaning towards this new and wonderful sound. It became a serenade of noise. A different tune with different tones. 

Being blessed, or rather cursed, with curiosity, the little stump stalks through the long blades of wheat. The closer it got the faster it walked. 

“Hurry, hurry! The monsters will get you!” 

The little stump stopped. The noise was just right above its head. And there wasn’t just one noise, it was about five or more.

Humans. Human children.

It has never seen one before. It doesn’t even know what they are. Which makes its curiosity rather risky.

Because it popped its head out of the wheat, hoping to get a closer look. Indeed it had a very good view of these odd looking creatures. Although, these creatures did not take its appearance quite fondly.

“What is that!” one of them yelled as it ran away.

“Ew, ew, ew! It’s dripping goo everywhere! Call someone, quick!”

The little stump didn’t know what to take of this reaction. Whether it was good or bad. It just wanted to get closer to the human children. Thus, it held up its arms in hope that it could touch them.

This only made the children more frantic. Screaming and throwing dirt and rocks at the little stump. The poor thing stumbled and tumbled from side to side as it got hit by the rocks. One of them went through the side of its head, leaving a significant hole in it.

That’s when the children finally stopped. “Wait,” one of them said. “It’s a pumpkin, right? You can carve it like a Jack-O-Lantern.”

“That’s true! But it’s gonna bite me if I touch it.”

“Nah, it won’t. It didn’t even make a sound when it got hit.”

“Oh, I still have my dad’s pocket knife!”

As the children discussed in fervent detail how they’ll carve into the little stumps head, the creature tried to cover the hole with dirt. The same slime that dripped from its legs pours from the wound. 

For the first time in its life, the little stump felt pain. It wanted to express how much it hurt. But it couldn’t.

All it managed to do was rub the wound on its head with its small hands made of wood.

Then, something else occurred. The slime started to trickle from its beady eyes; resembling tears. It desperately wiped away at them, creating more of a mess than it intended.

It turned around to run back into the forest. But one of the human children picked it up by the stem of its head. The little stump’s feet dangled in the air as it still tried to run away.

“Ugh, it looks like a little roach.”

“Hurry up. I wanna see what it looks like.”

The human children gang up on the little stump, circling it like vultures. It's surrounded by giggling and sneering. If it had a heart it would be broken by now.

While the little stump is at the mercy of the human children, the whispers and curses from the forest hang in the air.

“Pitiful and pathetic creature. Humans never change.”

“Little Stump survived far too long.”

The children tossed the little stump to the side of the road. The clouds were darkening, cueing their way home. They paid no mind to the cruelty they just caused. They will simply go to a warm home, to eat warm food, and share their childish joy with others. 

As they remained blissfully ignorant, the little stump layed on the dirt, facing the dark sky. It lifted its head, feeling it lighter than before. Then it touched where the children’s weapon was dragged.

A smile, smeared by the rain, painted its face.