He kicked a small pebble down the path, lost in thought. Though in form he stood alone in the forest, his mind was miles away, surrounded by images of people he’d never met, and sounds he’d never heard. That’s what made him a genius, people said. He knew things without learning them.

All his life, he’d been treated differently, looked at strangely. Perhaps with good reason, though, since he was just a boy. An adult’s brain in a boy’s body.

As the trees shuddered in a soft breeze and a chickadee chirped somewhere in the distance, he continued walking, stopping at times to admire a stone or smell the sap of the pines. He’d always wanted to be a tree. Since the first time he saw them, he wished he was encased in a woody shell, and that leaves could sprout from his long branches. Sometimes, he’d just lean against a willow or an evergreen and imagine himself being sucked inside it.

People didn’t understand him, often. That was just the way he thought. Surely other children had dreamt of being something other than they were, something besides flesh and blood? Maybe he was just the only one willing to admit that he truly was uncomfortable in his own body.

He looked down, gazing at his long fingers, his gangly knees, his broken nails in disgust. Humans in general disgusted him. What kind of person cuts down trees and shoots animals just because they can? He didn’t understand that not everyone longed to be nature. Some people just don’t care. But he couldn’t understand why. It was a complex, he supposed.

The last tendrils of the sunset snaked their way through the broad limbs of the forest. He stopped wandering, finally, in a spot he’d always admired. The way the dieing light hit the flowing stream, and reflected the huge oak in its waters. He couldn’t get enough of it. It beckoned him, called him, begged him to join their beautiful image. Finally, he was going to listen.

The rope he’d brought was rough in his hands, but he’d long ago stopped caring. Throwing the noose over the lowest branch, he gathered his courage and stepped onto a nearby stump, slipping it over his long neck.

It isn’t like he was killing himself out of despair, he reasoned. It was for the best. He hated what he was, not who he was. And now he couldlove both.

He took a deep breath and stepped off.

Far away, a chickadee twilled in the fast appearing starlight.