SPROUTING AFFECTION

I found the Acorn at the top of the hillside cemetery. 

I sat down beside the cracked, mossy gravestone with illegible engravings. The soft breeze sent a chill through my bones. I felt more alive there. It was silent except for the occasional car driving by on the road past the fence. Going someplace with little to no human life was, in my experience, the best cure for bad feelings that involved relationships. 

I lulled my head back as I leaned on my palms in the grass behind me. A mass of rainclouds covered the sky, blanketing the afternoon in a dim gray light.

A clattering noise came from behind me. I turned around and saw something tiny tumbling its way down from a great oak tree that towered over the rest of the cemetery. It rolled down, down, down, until it hit the side of my palm in the grass.

Acorn.

Its caramel brown body was smooth, and its little dark cap was patterned like a beautifully woven quilt. The bottom was adorned with a tiny, sharp tip. It was so perfect that I was a little taken aback. 

I carefully lifted it up to admire it in my hand, then rolled it around a little from palm to palm, and finally gripped it tight in my fist. It felt like a gift. A sign, maybe. I didn’t know for sure, but it came to me. That meant something, didn’t it? I had to respond in kind.

I dropped the Acorn into my pocket and left the cemetery.

❀❀❀

I kept my Acorn at my chest, dangling from a necklace I crafted for it. I used to let it dangle atop my shirts so other people could see it. I’d get compliments and kind words from my peers. But soon people began to ask questions I didn’t want to answer. 

“Where’d you find it? I want one too.”

“How long have you had it for? It seems new.”

“Are you sure you want an acorn on your necklace? It’s kind of weird.”

“What made you choose that? I mean, you’ve got better options.”

I tucked it under my shirt from then on.

It kept me calm. Every time I reached for the center of my chest and felt its small shape, I held it and pressed it against my heartbeat. The frantic thumping of my heart would slow, and a wave of peace would wash over me.

I would take it off every night and set it on my nightstand. In the morning, the first thing I would do is slip it over my head. Sometimes I would get lonely without it, though. So I started to keep it on while I slept. I would find indents on my chest when I got dressed in the morning, but it was fine. It only hurt a little.

I felt reinvigorated. I didn’t think about the past anymore. None of them mattered. I was moving on from their voices and their faces, forgetting the sound of my name from their mouths and their expressions I used to hold dear.

❀❀❀

“Hey, are you okay?” 

My friend leaned over from beside me on the bench. They were trying to look me in the eye, but my gaze was fixed on the Acorn I was fiddling with between my fingers.

“What do you mean?” I answered without looking at them.

“You look a little pale. Kind of sickly. Do you have a fever?”

“What?” My voice prickled up through my throat. It came out sharp as thorns. I turned to look at them. “Why would I be sick? I feel fine.”

They blinked in a stunned silence before narrowing their eyes at me. “Really? You’ve just been spacing out a lot. It’s like you’re kind of weighed down by something.”

“I’m fine.” I glued my gaze back to my Acorn.

“...If you say so.”

I stopped talking to my friend after that day.

❀❀❀

I soon noticed a blemish on the Acorn. It was small at first—just a little discoloration on its body. Nothing to worry about, I thought.

But it spread. The dark brown blot shifted to a sickly green and purple hue. It showed up in blotches all around the once-perfect caramel body. The cap of the Acorn started to chip off in some places. 

I held it as close as I could to my chest and mumbled to it that it would be okay. I would be with it no matter what. I was never going to leave. 

From then on, I felt compelled to go out on walks in the evening with my Acorn.

❀❀❀

The sun was setting. I slipped out of my bed, awoken by nothing but my own internal clock. It was time to walk. I followed the sidewalks through the quieter part of town. The cool air didn’t send a chill through me like it used to. I scarcely felt my own two feet carrying me across the ground. I was gliding through space. There was almost no weight to my body. Only a little sharp prickling sensation crawling up my arms and legs.

I found myself walking the path to the hillside cemetery. I continued through the metal gates and up the sloping hills. I grew lighter and lighter as I climbed. There was some kind of weight falling off of me.

I tried to turn my head to look behind me, but it fell back lifelessly. The muscles in my neck wouldn’t tense. I squinted my eyes in the dim light. There was a trail of something leading behind me as I continued up the hill. They were clumps of something pale with greenish-purple blemishes, scattered across the grass. Some dark liquid was pooling around the clumps and dripping onto the grass as I walked. The sharp, tangy scent of metal filled my nose. It was familiar. 

Blood.

I urged my neck to cooperate and swung my head back to the front. It flopped down onto my chest. The Acorn was sitting there. It had cracked open. Dark roots climbed across my chest and wrapped around my ribs. They reached further and further until they spiraled down my arms. My arms had very little flesh left. The clumps behind me had mostly come from my forearms, but now the flesh was peeling off from my biceps and flopping onto the grass with a wet splat. My legs were smothered in green and purple blemishes, slowly softening and tearing off the muscle, tissue, and fat underneath. The clumps of flesh were followed by spurts of blood that turned into streams flowing behind me. The roots from the Acorn quickly crawled to each new wound and dug into the holes. 

My bones were exposed to the chilly night air. I could finally feel the cold again. I stumbled on my feet as I reached the last gravestone at the top of the hill. My legs finally gave out, and I smashed to the ground. Reaching out with my root-covered arms, I dragged myself forward until I felt the cold stone beneath my fingertips. I dug my fingers into the gravestone’s cracks and pulled my body up against it. I sat beside it, my back leaning into the illegible words. My head lulled back. The oak tree atop the hill stared at me. I closed my eyes.

Then the new Oak consumed me.