The Hanging Tree Of Bedlam – 24

With one remaining task to fulfill, the posse headed home, and rode away into the wind, leaving Sam and Mark behind in the process. Down through the darkness that contained the freezing mist, freshly formed flakes of snow began to fall upon the scene. Making sacrificial gestures with their short-lived appearances, they humbly melted together the very instant they touched down. Now back into their initial state of grand unification, they immediately began to solidify themselves en masse for their next temporal phase. A period of cold, hard existence lay in store for these closely related particles, who were but a few minutes before, created to be the beatific crystallized structures of separation. How befitting it is then, that the same intricate latticework of laws govern over every manner of delicacy?

*

Fighting to regain a sense of equilibrium, Mark’s destabilized self did its best to get him to his horse, and back in the saddle. With sore aching bones, and a red runny nose, Sam did likewise. Mark’s slumbering mind was slowly coming to, and thus it reminded him of his oh-so curious nature. Knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer, Mark still went ahead and asked Sam a question. “Hey, Sam! What do you think he buried in that hole?” Sam answered quickly, as if the question had been pestering his mind, too. “Oh, hell, Kid, I don’t know! There ain’t no use in worrying about it now. We’ll dig up…whatever it is in the morning. Let’s go get warmed up. My friend supposedly left some wood. A blazing fire sounds pretty good right now.” Quietly, and practically under his breathe, the Kid said, “The name’s Mark, sir.” But Sam was being dense, and hard of hearing. “Say what, boy? Speak up!” A little louder, and a little bolder, the Kid asked again, “Would you mind calling me Mark, sir? That is my name, you know.” Sam paused for a moment, and then gave the Kid a wry smile. “Okay, Kid. Mark it is. And quit calling me sir! Now let’s get out of this godforsaken place.” Sam took off and Mark studiously followed him, keeping his next few thoughts to himself.

Mark was wishing he knew what exactly happened to him when he knelt beside that scary old hanging tree. He was feeling fine up until that time, and he thought he’d been a help, not a hindrance. Mark hardly ever took sick, and it bothered him to think that he might be getting an ear infection, or a cold, or something of the sort. He was a bit better now, but there for awhile, it felt as if he’d been spinning in circles, as he used to do as a boy. Making one’s self dizzy was fun back in those days. He thought that he must have outgrown that type of enjoyment, because he was no longer having fun. Something had gotten into him, that’s all he knew. He was quite beside himself as to how to make it go away. Mark had a hunch that some how or other the haunted tree was to blame. Not that he believed it was haunted, but he wondered, “What if it was?” Mark was torn between two disparate ideas. “Trees can’t make the wind blow. What an absurd notion! Unless…the broken limb…an escape route? Let the ghosts out?” Mark’s heart began to race after that last thought arrived. He chuckled to himself in an attempt to laugh it off. “That’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? So, what else…what was it then? What caused me to hear all those ghostly sounds? And see all those faces, as if I’d been there to watch each one of them be hanged? I bet that killer…that murderer…that evil man had something to do with it. Did his soul go into the tree, too? Oh, no! No, no, no. That would mean he got out like the others. And he’s on the loose? No, no, no…but his horse is gone. Where’d he go? Why, he should have gone straight to Hell! If there is such a place…and if there ain’t one, there ought to be, specifically designed for men like that…for eternity…for the longest of times.” When Mark fell to pondering the concept of infinity, his mind reached out in a furious attempt to grasp a thread of understanding, but it was all for naught. Finding nothing substantial to cling to, it simply mirrored the void and went blank.

After an unknown quantity of empty moments passed by, Mark’s newly cleansed mind willed it’s way back into his head, and thus it thrust itself into the tension of life’s confounding present. A short term later, it regained it’s store of memories. Twas then that Sam’s sidekick began to have second thoughts about staying the night in Bedlam. He questioned himself as to whether or not he should have rode away with the rest of the men. Sam had proclaimed that his friend’s old house was vacated. Mark dearly hoped Sam was correct in making that assumption.

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12 thoughts on “The Hanging Tree Of Bedlam – 24

  1. I like it tree!

    my advice for mark would be to be weary of the internet. cause this place can really do a number on one’s mind.

    A very believable number.

  2. Thank you, dear Bonnie! MerrY ChrisTmaS!
    “…in the highest degree of servitude for the whole of mankind.”
    Uncle Tree idolizes the hanging tree’s philosophy. A a gift, I see it
    as the white elephant in the room. He likes milk and cookies, too. πŸ™‚

    It’s no wonder I’m seeing pure white this morning, B.
    We’re currently having a Christmas blizzard!!! It started yesterday
    afternoon, and it’s forecast to extend it’s visit for another 24 hours or so.

    35 to 40 m.p.h. winds are whipping through the ice laden branches,
    making them creak and moan and yes, break off. Talk about deja vu. πŸ˜‰
    My poor Bonneville has been surrounded by drifts and covered in snow.
    Sacrificial twigs from a wide range of holy hosts lay scattered about.
    Like dark-colored sprinkles, they lay atop the frosting, adding contrast
    to the scene. This is not so very creamy dreamy either, this is r-e-a-l.

    If Santa’s magical reindeer got him through this mess last night, they
    deserve all the respect, fame and glory that mankind can give…and some
    hay too. The good stuff, though. Plain old grass won’t do the trick. Ho!

    Merry Christmas? Yes, it is. Yes, it is. Yes, it is, indeed.

    Luv ya, girl! Peace reigns over

    —**TeNsE*L*TrEe**—

  3. “How befitting it is then, that the same intricate latticework of laws govern over every manner of delicacy.” Isn’t this a question? also what “delicacy “are you refering?
    Rest sounds great!

  4. Delicacies as in…snowflake design and fragility;
    the process of the soul’s delicate transmigration;
    a constant transformation in the arts of unification.
    Union of the opposites: good/bad, black/white, etc.
    therefore the stress overrides the color scheme. Si’?
    Oh, yes. I changed it to a question mark. Thank you! πŸ™‚

  5. What I mean by what I say is…is it “of “similar delicacy as the snow? or are you describing snow in the same sentence with your comparison of law?
    you say a souls transmigration but you are comparing snow flakes delicacy to lattice works of laws…it almost seems as though you are now adding a third meaning to this delicacies thing…may either need more elaboration or narrowing of subject to be more effective toward getting the reader into your mind set here.

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