Do I consider it a tower? Is he a tower or a towering artificial tree? Let me tell you I’m not a naturalist, meaning I probably don’t care, but I do. Are they living or non-living, pestering the question of what life is?
To the people of Twan, everything they can put their minds on is life. Similar in concept to the ancient native African, Polynesian, Asian, Native American, and Europeans that everything in the universe is perceived to be alive, a life force of consciousness like humans and animals.
In my world, the tower trees of Twan were several hundred feet high, a species not known to most. My name is Arlene. For us, Tanians Alrene is a female name.
Strangely, tiny buds could be leaves, and there are fruits; if these things are considered fruits, they glow when it gets dark. I like other Iranians, don’t know what they are personally. I don’t care. They resemble oranges or apples with nodules extending from the top and bottom of the surface, which makes me feel giddy, but I can’t be sure; a stem holds the fruit onto the towering tree. It’s not wood. It felt like jelly, like the whole tower tree. I tried to see one of the branches, nothing it doesn’t work. Since I’ve known, we Twanians have called them Oia they taste good; I’ve had no stomach problems, and none of the people I know had any hassles. Oia are important as food and beacons to light the night; I’ve heard people in other worlds have artificial lights. We have them too, but they are rare. Instead, we depend on the Oia; they are energy efficient. During the night, the Oia lights the homes of the tower tree dwellers, yes, people live in the trees, and I’m one of its dwellers; I like it I intend to stay forever.
Our dwellings are too close, with no space. I’ve often heard of forbidden dirt on my neighbor, like erection you can’t make one, husbands discussing secret rendezvous to do something to their wives, noisy and uninteresting. One of my neighbors yells across the way, telling the other to leave him alone. Each dweller tried to keep their dreams and feelings a mystery to one another, preferring a boxed-in existence fine with them; for me I like to see things, to touch the branches of the tree towers to learn their secrets my wise grandfather once told me that it speaks to those who listen, trust their intuition, listen to their spirits, I have to trust the tree.
Many metal poles are everywhere among the branches and trunk of the towering tree, a preferred way of climbing down to the ground; some jump from higher units to lower ones, finally sliding down the chest. I’ve done that dangerous stuff; too many people died from the accidents. The poles are better with the revolving conveyor belt platform to stand on, a bar to hold, to descend; people use it every day, as crowded as it gets people to wait, not letting anyone know of their impatience or otherwise accused of bad manners.
In recent months, tower trees are not growing as they wish; my tree dwellers are sensing this. We all hear the cries of trees in our dreams. Some are manipulating them. I’ve seen strange characters about, we the dwellers know them, wizards; many of them have a fetish for controlling the minds of living things feeling the orgasm, my clock went backward, a facet refused to bring water, and chocolate oozed out. Tower trees weren’t always obedient to wizards’ mind-bending powers; in trying to bend them to their will, wizards sat circularly on the ground, chanting to make the tree obey in a certain way they wished. To control the manner, branches grew to support more dwellings, wider ones where more people could walk more quickly in what they needed to do. Some potential saplings refused to listen to the wizards or their mentorship. The wisest of the wizards let them do as they wished. If the wizard wasn’t manipulative and encouraged the towering tree to grow along its path, making only suggestions of the best way in its interest, the sapling tower trees opened its mind to the directions of the wizards.
If a few of these wizards, and I hope a few think they’re going to win a tug of war against the tower trees, they are in for disappointment like all of us who live in the trees, there is a weapon of magic and intelligence more potent than the wizards. I’ve seen one wizard try to change the direction of a branch. It traveled in the opposite direction snaking around until it thrust its sharp tip into his back, killing him. One offshoot grew around a wizard smothering him. Good for them. I never liked the wizards. To make a sharp point of the war, the manipulating wizards were killed or given up, and the ones that remained worked with the trees and us; no apologies, death to all evil wizards.
