The oldest tree in the forest fell down last night, with not a soul around to hear it. Isn’t that strange? A tree, falling all on its own, with no why to explain it and no one to see? But the oldest tree was ready to go. It was right about time. It fell of natural causes. When you think about it, there’s nothing more natural than falling over when you’re good and ready. It’s staying upright that can often be a perilous hardship.
Underneath the oldest tree in the forest when it fell was a thing called the Accidental Man, curled up into a ball and fast asleep. When the echoes of the fall of the oldest tree had faded into the stillness of the nighttime forest at last, the Accidental Man awoke, with a yawn and a stretch, and stood. He counted his fingers and toes, pulling off gloves and boots and replacing each one, one by one, until he was satisfied that he hadn’t lost any (because the forest is a bad place to fall asleep, and things have a habit of becoming misplaced, especially if you’ve been asleep for five thousand years because somebody planted a tree on you).
The Accidental Man looked around and smiled. It was good to be up and about, and he had people to happen to.
Let me tell you about accidents. Accidents happen quickly, and thoughtlessly, and are almost always horrible. Accidents that happen slowly are usually avoided, and accidents with a little thought behind them aren’t actually accidents at all, no matter what lies a barrister might tell.
Well, the Accidental Man was a quick, thoughtless thing that happened to other people, and quite horribly, too. He was proud of this. He considered it a Great Art, his life’s work, and that was why They had pinned him to the ground with forked wooden stakes and planted a tree upon him, fifty centuries and some change ago.
You don’t need to know who They are. The second you know who They are, They will know who you are, and nobody wants that.
The Accidental Man began to walk, his inquisitive eyes scanning the undergrowth, but he didn’t get far. His feet led him to a clearing in the woods, a clearing with a somehow familiar stranger sitting crosslegged on the ground in the centre. He smiled at the thought of happening to someone after so many years, and walked towards the crosslegged man, who sprang to his feet at his approach. They faced each other, in the clearing in the woods near the place where the oldest tree in the forest had fallen.
“Hello,” said the Accidental Man, and smiled. “I’m the Accidental Man.” He extended a hand in welcome, while behind his back the other, not-so-welcoming hand other curled its long, strangler’s fingers around a long, nasty knife.
“Hello,” said the stranger, who really did have a familiar air to him. Was it his face, or the way he stood? “I’ve been waiting for a very long time for you to wake up, my friend, and I happen on purpose.”
What followed was quick and unpleasant, and unusually for the Accidental Man, entirely unexpected. There’s probably an irony in there somewhere. If you have a friend who’s too clever for their own good, you should ask them.
And as for the familiar stranger? Well, he never sticks around in one place for long, having so many people to visit and so little time. But if you see him yourself? Run. Run fast, and run far.
Once again the forest was quiet. A bird flitted through branches and over bracken, and landed with a surprised chirp on the fallen oldest tree. For a moment it was sad, for it had nested in the branches of the oldest tree in the forest all of its short and nervous life, and it didn’t like change (anyone who says they do obviously hasn’t had a nasty one). And then it looked up and saw, only a few hundred yards through the foliage, the new oldest tree in the forest, and flapped happily into the air.
For when the oldest tree falls, there will always be a next oldest tree to take its place, and there will be an oldest tree until the very last tree in the world falls to the ground.
But let’s not think about that just yet.
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