January 2019 -- 75 Word Story Challenge -- VICTORY TO ARTORIARIUS!

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How the Trees Grew.
I loved my new house but the trees in the garden had to go, not only did they block the light, they obscured the view.

A trip to town for tools, a pint in pub. The locals weren’t impressed, told me to leave the trees be.

Next morning I set too cutting them down, I took a step forward, my feet grew heavy, I couldn’t move. A voice spoke “we told you to leave them"
 
Cheating never prospers.

Two men lit their pipes sparingly, two others watched as the tendrils of smoke crossed and re-crossed the table made of a large stump of a tree, and each man sat on a root playing poker. The two non-smokers were unperturbed by the smoke, and played what they thought were winning hands, however the two smokers laid down their hands. It was only then that a sudden realisation of cheating, then both sides laughed uncontrollably.
 
A Kick in the Teeth

“‘Lots of stone in Troll Country,’ he said! ‘Easy pickings,’ he said!” Hedrik muttered, peering down into the shallow pit. “How much further?”

Jorta looked up from the foot of the menhir. “Nearly there.” He swung the pick again, loosening another clump of mud. He kicked at the stone’s curiously bifurcated base. It shifted. “See?”

A thunderous groan rolled around the vale, half grinding boulders, half howl of pain.

Jorta looked up. “What was that?”
 
Game Night

The board, and the table beneath, exploded, peppering them with playing pieces.

In the wake of Norman’s exit, the Dark Lord grabbed some play money as it wafted past. “Is that in the rules?”

Prising the dog counter out of some unknown crevice, the Minion wagged it in reply.

“Inevitably? Really?” said the Dark Lord, as the Minion dug out the top hat. “Just shows, money isn’t the root of all evil, Norman’s mace is."
 
Ancestry Commandeered

I've been anxiously awaiting the results of my ancestral DNA test. Being an orphan, I had no idea of my roots. However, I'd always thought I had come from some exotic location.

The day they arrived, I anxiously opened my email.

And stared at the words.

"Remain calm. No harm will come to you. Federal agents will be arriving shortly."

Not likely.

I promptly disposed of them with my mind.

Ah, disappointing results…
 
Flowers and Weeds


One o’clock, two o’clock.
You caught my eye,
a floating seed
longing to settle somewhere.
I opened my heart.
You lined the chambers,
patching the breaks
and filling me with your love.
Three o’clock.
Time skips a beat.
My heart encased completely;
four rings now.
Five, Six.
Bonded to me
from within,
never to leave.
Seven o’clock.
My heart no longer beats on its own.
Eight o’clock.
The roots are too deep.
Nine.
They hurt.
 
Love vs. Law

“Blast!” The expletive exploded from Shelia, Mar’s Society Coordinator. “These ancient heresies are resilient!” Mars’ Constitution declared Mars free from religion. Her job was to root them out. But the Evangelical faith wouldn’t die.

Supervisor Smith sighed. “Shelia, these are true believers. They are rooted in love not simply ancient philosophy. The most devoted believe that God loves humans, and humans should love one another.”

Mars discovered that when love opposes law; love wins.
 
Modelling Love in the Age of Big Data

root[ ] tree->Show(John)
Current Status = 1
Preferred Status = 2
tree->Branch(“John”,single-state vector,“x1/dinner alone:x2/Xbox marathon”)
tree->Write(☹)

tree.AddFriend("Mary","friendfile1.root")
TBranch *newBranch = John-> Branch(“JohnandMary”,resultant force,"x1/meet Mary:x2/dinner together:x3/nightcap")
tree->Write(❤,❤)
 
Gardener's Dilemma

When Tom found the large root in his garden, his aunt said it was a root of the Great Tree Yggdrasil.

She knew about such things.

It had just appeared that morning, curling far up into the sky.

She explained that Yggdrasil needs roots in three different worlds to nourish itself fully: our world, Midgard, provides the essential nutrients of human good and evil equally.

“B**** that!” said Tom and took his axe to it.
 
Harvester


A million years ago, the ship was an asteroid. Intelligent life hollowed it out, fitted it with mighty engines, and hurled it across the gulf of interstellar space.

They packed it with the seeds of all life from their world, to take root elsewhere in the galaxy. And machines that could rebuild the chemistry of a world, to make it inhabitable.

When the Harvester reached Earth, it began removing the deadly oxygen from the atmosphere.
 
Autumn Light

My picture; in that summer dress, sparked
your words. You loved me.
I asked why, you only shrugged,
smiled at the frame.

I’d speak dreams for hours,
but you’d never hear,
only put petals
in my hair, ask me to dance
in the sun and breeze.

Now Autumn light draws in,
I’ve wrapped tight, surviving.
But I grow
weary, and wonder;
is it only the flowers,
or have you fallen for my roots as well?
 
Abject Stupidity

The mountain had been the home of the dwarves for millennia. Rich with minerals, gems and precious metals it was obvious why they had chosen it.

For years they had dug down, delighting in wealth, always more excavations, until the entire thing was a honeycomb of flimsy tunnels.

The weight of the mountain proved too much, dropping and crushing its own roots.

That is how the dwarves of Groundhammer mountain became extinct.
 
Root Day

“Careful with the roots! This is the first non-terrestrial life we’ve ever found.”
“It looks like a fern.”
“Coincidence. Ferns are simple plants and would evolve easily. Now let’s get this back to the ship.”

“When was the first non-terrestrial life found?”
Ally stood. “Two hundred years ago, 2134, miss.”
“That’s right. And what is that day called?”
“Root Day,” the class chorused.
“And who can tell me why Earth was abandoned?”
 
DENILE DAILY NEWS

" TUT involved in early morning accident after attending under age drinking party."
TUT was furious, " FAKE NEWS ," he screamed.

" I did have a fender bender on my way home from THE WALL market where I bought a new limestone tablet."
" I have a time stamped receipt."
" My wheel hit an exposed root and I careened into a parked chariot.."
" It was my cousin, NUTTIN-INCOMMON who got drunk and crashed into the Sphinx , not me."
 
My Place - For Padraic Fiacc

The roots of myself in your words.
I was that child, not taken from this troubled land.
Knowing, too, the wild beach, the chill wind, the harsh land carved out in beauty.

Heaney. Yeats. Longley and MacNeice.
Shaw. Whyte. Lewis and MacDonald.
Voices of my land.

And Padraic. Taken today.

I am bereft, uprooted, exposed - and then I read your words afresh, and they are not lost.

Therefore, nor am I.
 
Delirium

The tree was somehow more alive than others trees. The night wind sang in its branches: mad, wicked songs disturbing out sleep.

We cut it down and grubbed up the roots. But always some escaped us. Spring after spring a sapling appeared, to be uprooted and burned. Finally, everyone packed up, leaving an empty village behind us.

Years have passed; yet still I hear its songs in my dreams. They are beginning to make sense.
 
A Successful Experiment

Experiment Log 012: Test group given carnivorous thorn root. Control group given fresh bread.
Results: Carnivorous thorns grew from both groups. Suspect bread contaminated.

Experiment Log 013: Control group given bread from Dr. Wood's lunch.
Results: ...sh*t.

Experiment Log 014: Flamethrowers employed to hold back carnivorous thorns on Level 3.
Results: Carnivorous thorns surprisingly dexterous; now have flamethrowers.

Experiment Log 015: Test groop rosted. Contrul groop ra.
Results: Hoomins tastee. Most find mor.
 
Roots of Freedom

The roots,
enslaved in the dust,
mouths too deformed to free more than whispers,
spoke to me.

“You cannot create anything new. You can only agitate, and hope to free some of the ether. All else remains enslaved in the dust.”

Their meaning eluded me.

Yet now I sit in the dust, praying some of the Ether still remains to be freed.
And I wonder if the roots are freer than I will ever be.
 
From Small Acorns

I am God, love me and I will protect you, the Great Tree told its denizens. For truly its highest branches had found no trace of Heaven and its deepest roots only the fading warmth of Earth’s cooling core.

But in its arrogance it delved too deep, cracking the roof of the Abyss. Released, daemons and tormented souls uncountable swarmed toward the light, devouring the people.

I am God! The Tree told its new inhabitants.
 
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The Tree on the Village Green

Voices approach. Another carnival? I hope so. I have watched over hundreds in my time; they are my favourite.

But no, not a festival spirit -- instead anger and hate and fear. Ropes twist on my arms, gnawing my skin.

I give food and shade, not this.

I draw in my roots. My lungs wither and furl, and my limbs weaken and break, but no longer bear the weight of death.
 
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