Stephen Hanrahan

 This is an entry into a flash fiction challenge. The prompt was a tree.  the story went very dark quite quickly. trigger warning is story features suicide. If you are considering suicide please seek help.  

It’s big enough around that a tall man can hug it without his hands meeting, tall enough that when you stand under its twisted trunk it bends towards you. It’s scared and knotted body make it easy to climb and tie a rope around the limb. This tree is infamous of all in the forest, its the one people visit most. People walk through the forest over roots and detritus. Up the mound to the tree.  The tree that looks out on the whole world as you end it all in its boughs.

Gravel crunches under my feet. Heavy equipment on my back, folding table in my hand part of the team of six.  The technicians making our way along the public path. One that circles the outer edge of the forest. Rather than walking straight towards the tree, the route its latest customer took. We walk around on the smooth ground before cutting in towards its hill.

‘I hope to hell its nobody we know.’ Jim said between gasps

‘Too soon ‘ I reply.

It’s us more than anyone who ends up on the tree. Leaving the rest of us to look into grieving widows eyes as their hearts break. It’s us but not all of us. Jim the bastard with his belly to his knees and scruffy beard has been at it for years.  Collecting bodies .  One time he claimed to have analysed the bark of the tree in case it is spores or mold or something that draws men and women to end their lives. but nothing. It’s just oak, an ancient tree surrounded by saplings that just happens to have a body hang from it.

‘Here’ the boss calls. meeting the police. I curse him in my head. He’s one of those overly fit non-smokers who have to put energy into everything. Even the handshake with the poor rookie looks bad. With its energy too tight a squeeze judging by the rookies face. He points in towards the forest.  I veer off the path making for the treeline. I know where to go.

Halfway to my destination in the treeline, I catch up with the boss. ‘It’s police.’

‘Homicide?’

‘No traffic.’

I groaned. ‘ They’re going to be all over us for this one. ‘

‘Yeah, bright side won’t need to go on my run’ he powered ahead through the brush.

‘Bastard’ I whispered to the back of his head.

I dragged my pack with its forensic tent with me. Climbing over logs and brush. trying not to slip or get the flimsy material caught.  As I walked the air thickened. The light fell in dappled lines through the canopy.  A sense of peace descended as the leaves deadened sound and blocked the flow of air. I got the sense I was going somewhere holy. a shrine, a temple or an old druids glen where people made a sacrifice of themselves. So they could finally ease their troubled soul.

One last push through the brush and I was at the base of the mound. The tree is above me towering as if it were going to touch the clouds themselves three police officers stand around. A breeze twisting the purple face of the dead policeman.

I move towards the cleared ground we always use.  we may as well put a shed here. save time. jim steps out of the bushes camera in hand.

‘He picked a high branch.’  Jim said.

The policeman shot Jim a dagger stare. Jim just took his photos calm as anything.

‘I dream of this place you know.’ The police said. ‘Walking up here at night. Fuck my wife nevermind my kids. Tieing the noose and jumping. The worst part is I wake up happy. Then guilty.’

‘Dreams don’t mean shit’ I say. Laying out markers for evidence collection. On the fold out table.  I know the dream he had. I get it. Only I have no wife or kids to forget.

If been telling myself that for months now. Like a mantra.  The boss slaps a map of the area ladies out with grid lines.

‘Get collecting. He’s gonna drop soon.’

High as the body is on the mound and in the tree there are no ladders that really catch him. So we cut the rope and have a controlled fall. I hurry to scan the ground placing markers and bagging evidence. Here’s the bag he carried the rope in, there is a can of beer and a mars bar, his last meal perhaps.  anyway, I bag it and tag it. Everything meticulously in place and prepare for the drop.

‘ i wish they would cut down this tree.’ Jim says as he photographs the mud-stained knots in the tree.  Before the youngest of us is sent up. His thick plastic coat hindering slightly as he scales it. it probably won’t be his last time doing that.

Everyone gathers around for the drop. Some kind of morbid fascination grips us all. We need to see it. we need to watch his return to earth.  his body hangs only a foot above us. Dangling in the air. He was tall. maybe slightly taller now.  I position myself on one side. Jim and the boss on the other.  Jim gives the count.

‘Three, two, one’

I see my face bloated and purple dropping. It nearly startles me into missing the falling corpse, missing catching the body. The dead weight with no human to control his fall. I recover just in time.  He was baby-faced. A new kid probably just got into the police force.

‘Shit’. I whisper.

Jim takes pictures and we bag him quietly. pack up everything. it takes us a few trips to the van.  we have so much more coming out then when we went in.

Last trip we carry him clear of the trees then onto the gurney . on my way out I find myself musing.

‘How do you tie a noose.’

 

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