I sit by a table with obscene amounts of food on. Grilled chicken, fried shrimp, couscous, foie gras. It is indeed a splendid feast, but I cannot smell anything. I cannot taste anything. I cannot feel anything. Around the table are familiar faces, but I do not know their names. One hooded figure stands out though, he seems eerie. As not to seem too abnormal, I’m just a regular ol’ tree man after all, I eat and drink like a regular human being. The hooded figure laughs at me, a sort of deathly chuckle. He reveals his head, which is a skull surrounded in a dark shroud. He speaks ugly words to me, so ugly I throw up, and as he speaks flesh grows onto his bones. Dark, curly hair, brown eyes, an evil grin – soon the face became all too familiar. I shout obscenities at him, a mix of sap and puke dripping out of my mouth.

[i][b]“Silvio!” [/b][/i]

I have awoken from this horrid nightmare, the last shout echoing in the storage, my voice a gust through the many cages. Too often I awake from my shifting sleep abruptly, but this is the first time I actually shout something. The guards will not be happy. I am standing up – after the transformation this is how I sleep. It is fitting, seeing as I am now a tree. It’s bothersome to lie down with all the branches on my back anyway. I turn my head, my neck crackling; I try to move my knees, which have become quite stiff. As I shuffle in my cage, I hear steps. The guards…

[i]“HV001, we do not appreciate such outbursts”[/i] a guard says, three of them gathering in front of my cage. I have noticed that, although they approach most other cages alone, they are always more when they approach me. As if I am more of a danger. This is something I don’t understand, I am after all only a wooden man. 

I am tempted to answer the guard, but I know better. Whatever I say, they will use it against me. As some excuse to get the torches out and burn me. I mean that literally. [i]“Come on, you wooden bastard”[/i] the guard said, [i]“we know you can talk”[/i]. I know they won’t enter my cage. They never do. [i]“Give us a hand here”[/i] another guard said, and they laughed. I look down at my right shoulder, the butt of their joke. There is no arm there.

I look up again, keeping my silence. I’m obviously boring them. They sigh, look at each other, and split. I am relieved that I have once more avoided the guards’ punishment. I try to sleep again, there is not a lot more to do in this cage. And as I close my eyes, I hear one of the guards blowing off some steam. It’s the boy who follows orders. The one who always gets beat up. Why must he always be the one to be hurt? As I try to sleep, and hear the blows dealt to the prisoner boy, a droplet of sap runs down my cheek. Guilt consumes me.