“Commence.” 

    George’s mind began to swirl. His vision started fading to black as he wondered if he should’ve opted out of this so-called treatment. He didn’t have time to process what was going on or even scream before the pain had stopped as quickly as it had started. And then, there was nothing.

 
    He sprang to consciousness, displacing a green chrysanthemum and some leaves that had begun to gather on top of him and opened his eyes to his unfamiliar surroundings. Situated in a small clearing, he was surrounded by large patches of grass and dirt. Both appeared to be damp from either nightly rain or morning dew. Past the patches of dirt, a dense forest picked up with each trunk seemingly touching the next. As he turned to look behind him, he saw a wall of stone a couple of meters back. What appeared to be the side of a mountain towered way above his vision, the peak not in sight, and an unclimbable face. His head hurt. Where was he? 

    The smell of damp earth and fall leaves floated to his nostrils and soothed him for a moment; it reminded him of home. A faint memory began to fill his head: two teenagers talking to each other indistinctly, facing the woods in front of them. They pointed at different trees up ahead and made large motions with their hands, arguing about what path to take. The memory panned to a younger boy walking through a patch of mud zipping up a yellow oversized coat, dressed from head to toe in bright colored clothing.

    Young George called out to the other two. “My mom said I could go with you guys!” The older kids looked down at him and back at each other, groaning and rolling their eyes. “I overheard you guys planning this while talking to Jeffrey and I wanted to come! Where are we headed to? I have to be back home by di-”

    The kid on the left put his hand up, “Just stop talking, George.” His voice turned angry.

​

    “There is no ‘we’ that includes you. Don’t butt in.”

    “But-”

    “Go home, George,” the one on the right stepped forward.

    George didn’t move. His feet felt stuck frozen on the mud, and his legs weren’t responding to his commands. 

    “Didn’t you hear me?” The boy stepped closer, his right hand clenched in a fist. “I said to go,” his eerily calm voice frightened George, but he still couldn’t find the strength to move. Angrily, the boy shoved George back, making him land on the mud, covering his clothes with dark brown earth. 

    The memory ended, gone just as abruptly as it came. He sat there, feeling this sense of emptiness and worthlessness go over him. It was as if an enormous wave crashed on top of him and tried to suffocate him. His throat felt as if it had needles pressed against it whenever he took a breath. His eyes began to blur up against his will. This feeling was all too familiar for him; he has had too much experience of this sensation of powerlessness which strikes him right at the center of his already beat up heart. Why were those two boys so mean to him? Who were they? How did the smell of dirt make that memory return so vividly? The memory was surely his, but he couldn’t remember anything about the situation nor the people in it.

    George didn’t want to stay contemplating these questions, they’d just bring him sadness. So, he pushed his thoughts away into the deep corners of his subconscious. Right then, he heard rumbling thunder in the distance even though it was a clear day.

 
    George took his first step forward towards the forest. As much as the clearing was safe, George knew staying still wouldn’t grant him any answers in regard to where he was or why he was there. The wail of birds and the distinct hum of bugs grew quiet as he walked closer to the tree line. Were all the animals not in the forest? He hadn’t noticed anything in the clearing, or anyone for that matter. He seemed to be the only living thing there was. 
He pushed through the front lines of bushes and had to squeeze between two large trunks; his vision wasn’t lying before when he thought they were seemingly touching each other. After squeezing through the trees, he looked back at the clearing and suddenly regretted leaving the sun-covered grass for the largely shaded forest area with a dirt ground, roots sticking out everywhere, and constant feeling he was being watched. Deciding that the first option was obviously better than the second, he tried going back to the field. However, now that he tried squirming through again, he couldn’t even get more than his arm through the space between the trees. 

 

    “Uh oh.”

    He kept trying to force his body through the gap that was less than a foot wide now, which made no sense. Just a couple of seconds ago there was enough space for his entire body. How could this happen? He sucked in his stomach and tried one last time but to no avail. Just then, right in front of his eyes, the trunks expanded and completely shut off any hope of going through that same space again. Releasing a string of curses, he scrambled to move, desperately searching for another way in between the neighboring trees. He turned right and ran down the line of trees but all of the openings were sealed shut. He turned around and tried his luck on the left, but came up with no promises of ever coming back to the clearing. He leaned back on the trunk of one of the trees and fell to his knees. What am I going to do now? George thought. He placed his head on his knees. 

    And as if saying it out loud would calm his anxiety, “This must be completely normal, right?” He forced a small laugh. 

    “Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to believe it, “I’m just in some...uh...game show! Like the Japanese.” He shook his head. “Please let this be a game show.”

    After taking a big breath, holding it for a couple of seconds, and letting go, George stood up. “The quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line,” he rationalized. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

-o-

     Loneliness, George’s worst enemy, continued to grow louder as he walked deeper into woods. The sound of dead leaves crunching underneath his feet was his only comfort, filling in the gaps between leaves by humming along to songs or thinking random thoughts. Very little light poked through the canopy above him, but the path he was following was pretty simple: a couple of roots and rocks here and there, none of which he had tripped on (which was surprising). He kept walking, maintaining his gaze mainly towards the ground below him as if suddenly there would be more than just rocks and roots. This downtime gave him room to think more about his situation. Where was he? Clearly, a Japanese game show was a stretch. Although his surname, Falkman, was Swedish, he’s never lived there. Raised in various countries, he’s never felt at home in any of them. His father’s job would constantly force his family, comprised of him and his older brother, to change schools every couple of years. It didn’t matter how settled he would be getting, how happy he was, how many friends he has made, he was unable to settle anywhere. Even when he went off to college, he had to transfer schools more than once because he could never decide on his major. He ended up studying something he didn’t like at a community college where he never formed any lasting friendships. Sure, a couple of school friends here and there, but none of them ever remained in contact with him. Having a midlife crisis in his 20’s, George could only dream of being on a game show.

    Okay, if not a game show, then how did I get here? He searched his memory for anything that came before him suddenly waking up in a clearing. All that came to mind was him drinking milk straight out of the carton.  

    “Thanks, brain.”

    Instead, he thought back to the memory he had at the clearing. He cringed just thinking back to it. He was so lame back then, and it’s a stage in his life that begun at birth and has continued into the present day. George smirked at his self-depreciative joke. Yes, the kids were jerks to seclude him like that, but who was he to question the reasoning behind their hostility? He had been an awkward kid all throughout his 12 years of school; between being an integrated part of school cliques and just the isolated kid who would roam around the school grounds whenever there was lunch, George felt like he was always stuck in limbo. No matter what country he was in, who he was friends with, or what he did, George was just an unimportant speck of dust for the majority of the locals there. He would never get invited to parties, birthdays, or anything outside of school for that matter. It was as if as soon as the final bell rang, people forgot about his existence. 

    “Whoop, whoop, no one likes me,” George said as he kicked a rock. 
He saw a bright colored piece of fabric on the ground where the pebble he kicked was. He kneeled down to inspect it. Picking it up between his fingers, he could instantly tell where it came from. It was a piece of his yellow jacket, specifically the one he wore in his childhood years, and the one he wore when he got pushed down by those older kids. George kept staring at the piece of fabric for a while in silence before what should’ve been an obvious question came up.

    “Wait… Where did this come from?” He stood up and started looking around. How did the environment get this? George started to get paranoid.

​

    Was there someone looking at him? While trying to get a closer look, he brought his hands up and felt it. The bark seemed plastic-like. There were no edges in the texture and it was cold to the touch. This is not how a tree should feel.

 
Slowly raising his arm back up, he hit the tree with his knuckles. 

    That’s metallic. His breath quickened and tried to look for an explanation that he wasn’t going crazy. Were these just a new species of trees? Maybe? He went to another nearby tree and felt it. Rough edges. It felt like bark, but he wasn’t sure whether to trust it. Cautiously, he lifted his hand back up and knocked again. 

    That’s...normal. This brought up more questions than answers. 

    “Only some of the trees are fake…? What?”

    As he stood next to the real tree, he heard a faint sound of mechanical whirring followed by what seemed like splintering wood. Looking behind him, he saw the fake tree’s outer bark moving ever so slightly. He walked back to the fake tree, bewildered and scared out of his mind.

    George walked around the trunk of the tree running his hand through the now coarse edges of the bark. While he stood there admiring the simple feat of a reactive environment. The game show idea seemed more believable now. Right then, he heard a voice right behind him. 

    “Pretty cool, huh?” 

    George felt his heart jump out of his body. Wasn’t he the only person around? Instinctively, he clung behind a tree and peeked out from the side, attempting to look at what may be his only companion in these lonely woods. When he searched for the body of the voice, however, his eyes met only the same background that has followed him around everywhere: trees upon trees upon trees. 
 

    The condescending voice piped up behind him. “What’re you looking for?”
 

    George hit his head against the tree. Wincing, his eyes squinted open to see who surprised him. His eyes were met with a tall, broad-shouldered guy wearing a polo t-shirt and sporting a crew cut. 
 

    “Scared ya, did I?” the person laughed. He looked like one of those generic bullies you see on the old Disney Channel movies. 
   

    He frowned slightly. “Damn, okay, just because I’m wearing a polo shirt, huh?” He scoffed and started walking away. 

    George was confused. Did he say that Disney Channel comment out loud? “Wait!” George scrambled to his feet. “Who are you?”
   

    Without turning back, the guy called out: “The name’s Artel, Artel Goe.” With that, he turned past a tree and left George’s sight. George quickly scrambled to his feet to follow the only living person he’s seen since before the clearing. 
 

    “Wait! Where are you going?!” He turned around the same tree he saw Artel go around. A couple of meters in front of him he saw the back of Artel’s clothing turn past another tree, so George sprinted towards him. What if he had answers to why he was here? That would mean he knew how to get out of here, so George had even more reason to continue chasing the blue colored fabric that would disappear from his sight no matter how fast he ran.
 

    “Just wait for a second! Please!” 
 

    After a couple of minutes, George started to lose hope. 
 

    “Welp, there goes my only chance of getting out of here,” George sat on a rock while trying to catch his breath. 
   

    “Typical,” the voice of Artel spoke up from behind him. “So quick to quit, aren’t you George?”
 

    George snapped his head back to look at Artel, casually sitting on a low branch from a nearby tree. Anger boiled in his stomach. What does he know about how I am? 
 

    “Oh ho ho,” Artel jumped down from the branch in one swift movement, “No reason to get all upset, Georgie.”
 

    “I didn’t even say anything,” George responded. “How do you even know how I’m feeling? I just met you.”
 

    “And that’s where you’re mistaken,” Artel started walking closer to where George was sitting. “What? You think you know your worth? Are you trying to stand up for yourself? Give it a break.”
 

    By now, Artel was face to face with George. Artel’s eyes, gray and hostile that felt charged with electricity and potential danger, gave George a beady stare. George maintained eye contact, but he was starting to get uneasy. 
 

    “What? Scared of a little confrontation? I can see the fear creeping into your eyes, you coward,” Artel finally stood back up again as a villainous smile crept onto his face. “Well, I don’t blame you, either. Just look at you. Pathetic. Hell, it’s barely even worth to tell you all these things. We both just know that you’ve never done anything to improve yourself, ever.” 
 

    George remained quiet as he lowered his eyes. What could he say? He started to remember another instance of when he’s felt this pathetic. It was back in his junior year of high school. He wasn’t the type of person to get crushes, but something about Victoria was different. He shared a class with her, and would always try to sit near her since she was usually one of the few people who took interest in interacting with him. In a time where he struggled at finding a sense of validation, George ate up the laughs that he was able to get out of her with his lame jokes, the time he would spend texting her every night, prioritizing her over his sleep while risking the wrath of his mother for staying up so late. She would entrust him with secrets that she said she swore she’d never told anyone, and George would do everything to make sure that she felt comfortable doing so. They were never together, but he felt like it was the closest he’d ever been with someone. That was until he tried asking her out.  
 

    Sadly, he remembers it all pretty clearly. After getting some helpful encouragement from a friend he thought he could trust, he went to school with a sunflower in his backpack, her favorite flower. He had it planned out the day before with his friend. He would find her right when school ended, catch her before she met up with her group of friends, give her the flower, and ask her then. That whole day he was anxious, constantly looking at the clock and counting the minutes down until the final bell would ring which would give him center stage. The day passed by in a blur, yet he had not seen Victoria all day. Maybe she was sick, George had reasoned. Or maybe it was a sign not to ask her out. Thoughts of self-doubt plagued his mind all day. What if his friend gave up his secret plan? Is that why she was avoiding him? Then, the final bell rang. George stepped out onto the stream of students in the main hallway. In the midst of uniforms and ongoing conversations, George spotted Victoria’s backpack nearing the intersection where she always met up with her friends. He rushed to reach her before then, but before he could even call out for her to stop, he saw her stop to talk to a group of sports guys, the ones on the varsity team. By then George had caught up with her and was about to call her aside when she leaned in and kissed one of the football players. Pulling away, Victoria caught the eye of George, pale-faced with his mouth wide open. 
 

    “Oh hey, George! Are you okay?”
 

    George didn’t know how to respond. He stood there, dumbfounded and unable to move his legs. She walked closer with her new boyfriend at her side. 
 

    “You know Baxter, right? He asked me out at the start of school today! It was so sweet. He brought me flowers and everything!”
 

    The memory faded. George felt his head grow heavier than what it was before. He felt the sting of heart-crushing defeat again as tears began to well up in eyes. Everything would’ve gone so well for him. But again, George ended up siding with Victoria’s decision. George laughed at himself for even thinking that he had a chance with her. Of course she would want someone that wasn’t some worthless sack of nobody. Doesn’t matter how much we talked, or how much I thought she confided in me, it was such a stupid idea to even dream about asking her out. Artel was right with what he had said. After that, George stopped initiating any type of conversation with her and stopped trying to sit with her in class. To add insult to injury, he would always see the new couple in the hallways at the start and end of his day. He eagerly waited for graduation or for his family to move. 
 

    Looking up from the ground, George noticed that Artel wasn’t there anymore but he couldn’t care less. He stood up and started walking. The direction didn’t matter, as long as he was far from where Artel had been. He had a suspicion that he caused that memory to arise in his mind. Artel had known the right places to prod and that scared Geroge. What other information on his life did he know about? He wasn’t looking forward to finding out.
 

    After a couple of minutes of walking in self-dread, George found the path he had been following before meeting Artel. He decided to continue forward as any worn path should mean that there was some final destination to it. He found himself lugging his feet forward; a part of him hadn’t gotten over the events of almost a decade ago as much as he wanted to. He has since blamed it to be the reason he has trouble believing whenever a rumor would circle around saying that someone liked him. 
 

    “Yeah, right,” he would respond back. “Maybe try harder at making me believe something.” 
   

    “They’ll come to their senses,” George would tell himself, convinced that he was bottom-of-the-barrel material. Hell, even his closest friends didn’t reciprocate his feelings. He was doomed to be a wandering rover: no one asked about how he felt, nor would they care when he brought up the courage to open up to someone. He had found out that the friend he told his plan about asking Victoria out had ratted him out. For George, it was his final straw. He cut ties with all his friends and shrunk to the profile of a student who did nothing more than sit in the back of the class. His days turned long and tiring, each week seemed longer than the one before. Every Monday morning he would wish for it to be Friday just so he could do nothing. He had begun to notice his decline in mental health but chose not to do anything in regards to it. He fell behind in school. Once a promising above-average student, his grades declined as he failed to meet deadlines. George led no type of busy lifestyle before, but now he didn’t even find joy in anything he used to. He found himself taking more naps than usual, eating way less, and just an overall state equivalent to a thunderstorm: dark, unpleasant, and uninviting. 
 

    George noticed that he had started to cry. He continued walking down the dirt path with slow tears falling down his cheeks, not even bothering to clean them up. George was good at wearing a fake facade wherever he went, not even his mother knew about how he was feeling more than half the time. But once his outer shell was peeled off, he could be reduced to a single pile of miserable dirt. 
 

    George reached up to wipe the tears away. After a couple of deep breaths, he sucked in the remaining of his sadness and pushed it away. No use in feeling sad, just don’t think about it. This was a common procedure for him: never wanting to be the emotional type, George would constantly put his feelings away in a tight box, sealed shut. 
 

    “Why learn to deal with your emotions when you can just seal them away,” George kidded to himself. His shoulders drooped even more. Yikes.
 

    To try and distract himself, he lifted his gaze to his surroundings. Different from the start of the woods, it felt significantly colder. A light fog began to pick up as it became harder for him to see what lied ahead. He couldn’t believe it, but he started to wish Artel was back just to have some company.
 

-o-

 

    Artel sat on a high branch overlooking the dirt path below and saw George walking beneath him, unnoticing. 
 

    “Ah, he’s finally pulled himself back together,” Artel noticed. Looking closer, he noticed George’s gait: the drooping shoulders, the slow pace. His eyes widened in excitement.
 

    “Not entirely it seems,” as he clasped his hands in glee. “Let’s break his little shell again, shall we?”
 

-o-
 

    George had started to shiver by the time he saw Artel again. This time, there were no surprises, thankfully. He was inspecting a tree and hadn’t noticed George. He picked up his pace a bit.
    

    “Hey!” George called out. “What are you looking at?”
    

    “Oh, nothing,” his smile was comforting to George, which was what he needed after walking so long in self-hatred. 
    

    “Hey, I wanted to apologize for being a bit of a jerk back there,” Artel continued. “I know it was definitely uncalled for and I hope you can forgive me.”
    

    George was taken aback by his sincerity. Even though what he had said before still stung, he didn’t want for him to know.  “Of course! It’s all good.”
  

    “Here, I think we should just follow this path.” 
    

    “Lead the way.”
    

    I must’ve misunderstood Artel, he seems genuinely nice. Now that I have him, I should probably let some things off my chest. Who knows when I’ll have the chance to talk to someone who knows about me? Besides, what could go wrong?

 
    “Artel, I was wondering if I could talk to you about some personal stuff that I’ve seen since I got here. If you’d rather not hear about it it’s okay, though.”
 

    “YES,” Artel said a bit too excitedly. He caught himself and coughed sheepishly. “I mean, yeah, of course, bro. I’m here for you.”
 

    “It’s just that, I feel like my past is riddled with so many personal mistakes that I’ve never known how to deal it in a healthy manner, always pushing my deep and darkest thoughts into a corner of my mind where I would just hope they don’t come out. I’ve always tried to be there for my friends and family, to try and act as a person of encouragement for them, but I’ve never gotten any of that back. Seeing memories of my childhood and high school, it becomes really painful to even think about anything regarding my past. I want to be the nice, caring person that I was taught to be, and at the same time be more than some lame guy people mostly ignored in school. I just wish that-”
    

    “You know, you’d expect someone to learn from their mistakes,” Artel stopped suddenly, causing George to bump against him. Artel didn’t budge. “It’s obvious that you have some sort of defect that isn’t what people are looking for. I mean,” he flashed a devilish grin, “you know what people say about you. Still never learning, are you?” 
   

    George’s heart fell. He hadn’t expected this type of answer from Artel. Was it possible he didn’t mean what he said before? Yes, he’s heard about people talking behind his back, of course. They were never nice comments, though. People, close friends, parents, there was no difference. They have all said their harsh truths. Uncaring whispers, dampeners to his happiness. That’s what they were. The worst part of it is that sometimes it’s not even behind his back. What do you even do then? What do you do when your closest friend tells you that they don’t think you’re fun enough to hang out with their newfound group of friends? When your mom talks about how she doesn’t feel you contribute in any positive way in the family? 
    

    He walked in silence after that; there wasn’t much to be said. This forest seems to drone on forever, and it looked as if every tree they passed by was exactly the same. Artel had disappeared as he usually does after spitting out poisoned comments like some video game character that had only one purpose: make George feel bad. George didn’t care much though, his mind was clouded with a lightning storm whose flashes were blinding and seemingly dangerous as if going even further into them would result in a type of self-inflicted pain which wasn’t what he wanted at all. It seemed so inviting in an insidious way as if those thoughts themselves knew that they were harmful and unnecessary yet they still tried to trick him into delving into it, just for the hell of it. And George, powerless, would always heed to their call, like untied sailors to a siren’s voice. Although no death awaited for him, he certainly wished it was brought to him. 
 

-o-

    “So this is where this path leads.”
 

    There it was, one tree, towering above all the others as some sort of monumental piece of nature. At its base, the trunk was split into two legs with an opening large enough for George to pass through with room to spare. Upon getting closer, he saw the spiraling vines that covered the bark of the gateway-like trunks that seemed to be withering. In fact, it was the only withering thing George had seen in his entire trip. 
 

    Fog was dense beyond the entrance. 
 

    A gentle breeze blew from within the tree's hollowed interior. 
 

    "Oh, this'll be fun," Artel spoke up from behind George, but he's grown accustomed to his sudden appearances by now and didn't even budge. 
 

    "How come you're so excited?" George asked wearily. 
 

    "You'll see." Artel began walking and George soon lost sight of him as he disappeared to become part of the glooming fog that shrouded any object more than a couple of meters in front of him. 
 

    Something Artel was excited about? This couldn't be good. 
 

    Another gust of wind threatened to shove George's body inside, making him lose balance and take a step forward. He sighed. He wanted out. No longer fighting against the wind, he began putting one foot after the other. As if already taken note of, the wind stopped blowing, returning the ambient to one of complete silence as George disappeared to the outside view.   
    This moment of silence gave George more time to think on his own. He was really starting to get tired. Artel knew exactly what to say and when to say it. George had made so many stupid mistakes that Artel has known about in an instant, all this making him sink deeper and deeper into his personal hole of despair. He found himself lugging himself on more often than usual; his mind was keen on moving forward and following this dreaded path while his body was ready to lay down at the base of a tree and never move again. How much longer will he have to trudge on this dirt path? 
 

    His footsteps echoed throughout the hollowed interior of what had at first seemed like a tree, but George began to question its identity. As big as the trunk may be, he has been walking in a straight line for more than 15 minutes now without any clues that could help him figure out where he was within the tree. The fog had cleared up a couple of minutes ago, but he still couldn’t see more than a couple of meters in front of him due to how dark it was. Although surprised that there was any light at all, George was just thankful for anything that wasn’t total darkness. His feet were beginning to hurt more than they already did, so George decided to rest. He sat down for what felt like to be the first time since he woke up in that clearing long ago. He was so very tired. 
 

-o-

​

    When George woke up, he couldn’t move. His arms couldn’t budge. A heavy force was pushing down on his chest that counteracted any upward movement of his arms. As his breath quickened, he found himself starting to panic. He tried to open his eyes but to no avail. Was he being locked in place by the tree? Was Artel restricting his movement somehow? George started coughing dirt. This was not how he expected to die. He struggled even more before he realized he could stretch his arms sidewards. Wait. He stopped thrashing. George drew a heavy sigh. With both of his hands, he pushed off against the ground and sat himself up. 
 

    “God, that was embarrassing,” as he brushed the dirt off his clothing. 
 

    Somehow expected, he heard a howl of laughter right behind him. Oh jeez. You… You thought,” Artel could barely string more than a couple of words together. “You thought you were dying!” He doubled over against the wall opposite of him. 
 

    George’s heart sunk to his toes and his face got hot. This was the last thing he needed at the moment. Another session of one-sided fun? No, thanks. He’s just about had enough, really. Artel has tired him out. Instead, he got up, brushed off the last bit of dirt spots, and started walking again. Artel noticed this and stopped laughing. His expression changed from amusement to a stone-like seriousness. 
 

    “Where do you think you’re going?”
 

    “Away from you,” George said wearily without turning around. 
 

    In fact, he was a bit proud of how he was standing up to him, albeit a small gesture. A small grin tugged at the end of his mouth.
 

    Artel didn’t say anything in response, so George turned looked over his shoulder to see whether or not he could catch Artel’s face. Artel was in the same spot, with his face blank and arms at his side, mouth slightly agape. A feeling of pride filled in his stomach. 
 

    “Oh, I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself.” Artel’s icy words froze George in his tracks. He dared to look behind his again shoulder. 
 

    Artel laughed again. “How high and mighty do you think you are? I can read your thoughts, you know. I at least figured you’d figure that out. You’re really dumb aren’t you?” He took a step closer. 
 

    “I don’t even know why I bother at this point. Everything your idiotic brain does is wasteful! So quick to trust, so quick to belittle yourself. All I had to say was sorry and you rushed to open up your worthless heart and some feelings that no one gives a damn about. I think we’re both astonished to find how you’ve lived with yourself this long.”
 

    Artel paused. 
 

    “You know, I’m getting sick and tired just talking to you so much. Let’s just skip right to the chase.”
    

    And, with a snap of his fingers, the corridor which they were walking in began to shake. The walls began to quickly contract on themselves as the sound of snapping wood brought George to his knees and his arms up for protection, covering his ears and head while shutting his eyes tight. What felt like an earthquake didn’t last long and as soon as the shaking stopped, George stood back up again to see what had happened. He found himself back at the tree’s entrance again. Now, his surroundings were obscured by bright clouds of fog and it was unclear whether or not they were still in the forest. All that lied before him was the tree, still towering above him, disappearing past the clouds.  The archway’s vines had completely withered as he saw various petals break off its stem, lifeless. 
 

    “There are two choices,” Artel said in front of him, hands in his pockets and looking directly at George. 
 

   “You can either choose to take the coward’s way out and walk away from this tree into the fog, where you’ll wake up back in your regular life, living with the fact that you had the chance to change yourself but didn’t take it. 
 

    “Or,” he continued, “you can go into the heart of this tree and face everything you’ve struggled with and failed. Think of it as your only path to redemption, and the last one you’ll ever have offered to you again.” 
 

    George said nothing. 
 

    “You may reason with yourself and say that it wouldn’t be worth it, but the truth is, George, is that all of this is personal. It always has been. You’re the main reason I’m still alive and living in the depths of your subconscious. I’m the one that whispers those truths that you never want to admit to out loud.  I know everything there is to know about you, and I’m well prepared to take over your entire being at this point. You are just some weak-minded, disappointing, worthless human pile of garbage. Now, if you want to somehow prove me otherwise, step inside. Because in the end, it’s always been about proving yourself to other people, hasn’t it? To show people that you have any kind of value in this godforsaken planet? Well, maybe if you beat me, then something will turn good in your life for once.”
 

    With that, Artel walked inside the tree.
 

    Part of George wanted to walk away. As cruel as Artel’s words had been, they had given some crucial insight into why he was here. “Living in the depths” of George’s subconsciousness wasn’t just some literary figure stretch--it was the truth. Suddenly, George began to realize that before waking up in the clearing he had been on his way to a nearby grocery store when he noticed a flyer. “Cure your state of mind! Break free from that evil Alter Ego! Find happiness!” Normally, George would discard any outside help for his mental health as he didn’t like burdening others for problems that were his. He didn’t believe they were serious enough to seek help anyways. He was about to crumple it up to throw in the nearby trashcan when a small kid walked by with his mother. 
 

    “Mommy, why does he look like a ghost?”
 

    “We don’t say those things out loud,” the mother said as she picked up the pace, muttering a small apology when she walked by. 
 

    As soon as they thought they were out of earshot, George had heard the mother respond back to her son, “You were right, he looks like a grumpy ghost.” They laughed.
 

    George had looked at the paper again. “Get your treatment today!” with the address of the house of a local healing practitioner below it. Sighing, he changed routes. 
 

    When he got there, he was made sign multiple papers, that told him he wasn’t liable for any negative outcome George could have. Signing on the dotted lines, George was told to lie down on a small bed where the man placed a helmet filled with cables on it.
 

    “This shouldn’t hurt one bit,” the man had said. 
    

    “Remember, you’ll wake up in an environment unique to yourself, with an AI based on subconscious thoughts this ‘ere helmet picks up on. Now, you’re the first patient I’ve received so I’m not entirely sure how this will turn out, but I’m sure your will should be strong enough to fight whatever you’ve got buried within you.” 
    

    George had remained quiet. 
 

    He had hoped so, too, but he didn’t expect anything like this. Artel had proved to be something far beyond what he had imagined his subconscious to be capable of. He felt a chill run down his spine. He only really had one choice in the end. George clenched his fists. Another breeze blew towards the tree’s hollow inside, and George took his first step forward. 
 

    He walked inside, was taken away at how vast the inside was. Spanning the length of a football field, George couldn’t even see where the other exit was if there was one. Above him was a dark, topless ceiling that echoed every movement he made. There was still fog surrounding him as he walked further in, hiding potential threats that Artel must’ve set up. After walking with much caution, George came across a chest with a key in its lock. It looked old and battered as if it had been around for the birth of the tree itself. Cautiously, he bent down to turn the key and opened the chest. Inside there was...nothing. No sides, no insides at all, actually. It appeared as if the chest was bottomless. When he looked directly over it, George saw his face with not a wrinkle of fatigue. He looked as vibrant as ever: his eyes at full attention as if he had gotten a good night’s rest, his hair was clean and worn back, and his smile was pure and genuine. However, the reflection started to move its hand towards his face where it pulled off the mask it was wearing. Underneath lied the face of a man whom George couldn’t recognize: his eyes were half closed as if it were a constant struggle to maintain them open, his hair was dirty and untidied with strands sticking out by the sides dirtied, and he wore a look of complete fatigue. Horrified, George reached up to touch his own face and was struck with fear when he saw the reflection do the same. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. That child had been right to call him a ghost. That’s when he heard the voice of Artel above him.
 

    “You’re gonna have a bad time.”
 

    As soon as he finished his sentence, the chest George had opened started to shake violently. He took a step back.
 

    “What the…”
 

    He didn’t get the chance to finish when the chest erupted and began to spew out a dark substance that George couldn’t identify. It rose an unimaginable height, producing a loud, rumbling sound that shook the ground and inner walls of the tree. In just a couple of seconds, the chest had stopped spewing out whatever was inside of it and it, too, rose above George. It broke into half as both of its sections slowly morphed into a dark, heavy cloud that kept expanding, covering the entire ceiling of the trunk, thunder sparking from within it. From above the clouds, Artel descended using the pillar of dark mass as a platform as it bent to his will. He wore a wide smile, obviously enjoying every aspect of his superiority. Seeing George unable to move due to fear, he faked a face of compassion. 
 

    “Oh, do you regret your choice?” he called out. 
 

    “Here, I’ll give you one last chance,” Artel snapped his fingers and in a moment the tree produced an opening just a couple of meters in front of George. Through it, he could see the clearing where he first woke up in this dreaded world. 
 

    “Go on, you’re free to go,” Artel prodded.
 

    George was finally able to move his feet as he sprinted towards the opening. He ran as fast as his legs would allow him but he soon realized that he wasn’t getting any closer. Although he had run more than the distance between him and the clearing, he hasn’t actually moved at all. He heard Artel devilish laughter above him. 
 

    “Did you REALLY think I was going to let you escape?” he laughed and snapped his fingers again, making George’s only exit gone once more. 
 

    “I gave you ONE chance, and you blew it.  Prepare to face the consequences.” 
 

    And with that, he disappeared into the clouds again. With thunder rumbling above, rain began to pour. George mustered up the remaining courage he had left and prepared for any oncoming attacks. Ahead, a hole in the clouds began to form. From there dropped a pillar of the unknown mass as it began to shift into the form of George’s high school. With its front door fully formed, his old class bell rang and with it as the ground began to move closer towards the main doors. Unable to escape the movement of the terrain beneath him, George was forced through the double doors of his youth. 
 

    Everything inside was exactly the way he remembered it down to the trophy case with a piece of gum sticking to it. He knew he didn’t want to be here, as it was likely part of Artel’s plans to get at him, so he began to run past the only hallway there was. Ahead was a multitude of people without faces, presumably his unrecognizable classmates from way back when blocking his path. Upon reaching them, he pushed and shoved his way past, trying with all his energy to reach the end of the hallway. When he finally broke through, he saw what the crowd of people were huddling around. It was Victoria and Baxter, giving each other the same kiss that he had bared witness to all those years ago. Upon pulling apart, they both turned to look at him.
 

    “Oh hey, George,” they spoke in unison. 
 

    The crowd of faceless began to laugh at George, as the figures grew bigger taller, towering over him. Fingers pointed at him from every angle. 
 

    “Isn’t he just the best?” he heard the voice of Victoria say in monotone. “Why can’t you be more like him, George?” 
 

    George’s stomach plunged. He dropped to his knees and attempted to cover his ears to stop the incessant laughter and constant questions that Victoria asked. 
 

    “Stop it, please,” George pleaded silently. 
 

    The mass of people began to close in on him, their laughter growing louder and louder. 
 

    “Why are you so worthless, George?” they all said in unison.
 

    “I don’t know,” he stammered. “Please, just leave me alone.”
 

    He shut his eyes tight and focused on shutting them out. In a last-ditch effort, he got up and began running. Past the couple, past the swarm of people that blocked his path and pulled on his shirt, repeating the question of why was he so worthless. He ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He finally opened his eyes that had been clenched shut. He was back in the trunk of the tree, with cold rain falling on top of him. 
 

    “So you made it past the high school, eh?” Artel’s voice could be heard all around him.
 

    “Let’s raise the stakes.”
 

    The pillar of morphable potential dropped down again from a hole in the clouds above.

   

    This time, it was much smaller than the school, and it formed right in front of George. When the dark mass forming, it returned back to the skies where it came from, dropping a jacket in its trail. This time, thunder struck the ground where the jacket was and turned it yellow. 
 

    “I want you to wear it,” Artel said, dropping below the clouds again to personally pick up the jacket. 
 

    George shrunk back in fear and began to step away, but Artel noticed this. With a wag of his finger and the pointing of his shoe, Artel turned the ground in which George was standing on into solid ice as it traveled up his leg, freezing him in place. As much as he tried to kick his way out, his legs couldn’t move. Walking slowly towards him, Artel picked up the yellow jacket. 
 

    “Poor little thing. I remember when you wore this on that autumn afternoon, I hadn’t fully manifested in your mind yet, but turns out it was a great step in the right direction.”
 

    He chuckled, “You never wore it again, did you? Your mom was able to wash the dirt off, but she couldn’t take away the sense of humiliation, huh?”
 

    George winced. 
 

    “Low blow? Well, why don’t you wear it again, see how it feels?”
 

    George fought against the ice in an attempt to break free. He did not want to wear that jacket, no matter what. Wearing it brought back too many feelings, those he wished he could forget. Artel stepped closer. With the strength George had left, he drew a punch, swinging in a reckless manner that Artel easily dodged. 
 

    Artel looked surprised. “Fighting now, are we? Don’t waste your time; you already drained all your energy trying to get out of your high school.”
 

    Jacket in hand, Artel covered George’s face. Reaching to tear it off himself, George cleared his view to then be met with two massive shadows looking down on him. His grade school bullies from the afternoon of the yellow jacket were there, laughing at him like he was nothing. 
 

    “We told you to go home, George,” they both said. 
 

    “Well?” he heard Artel echoing in his head. “Why don’t you break free? I made the ice difficult to get through, not impossible. If you were as strong as you should be, then get a move on.” 
 

    George willed his legs to move again. The ice didn’t even crack. He began to grow desperate, hitting his hands against his ice shackles. Why can’t I break free he thought. Did I never have it within me? His hands began to bleed. He punched harder as his anger grew. I can’t even break this piece of ice, this is just miserable. No matter what I do, I can never break past anything. I’m destined to be what everyone says I am: boring, too generic, not strong enough, not interesting enough. He stopped punching the ice. 
 

    “How did you describe it?” Artel’s voice was dripping in toxicity. “‘An enormous wave’? I can do that. 
 

    He lifted his hands upwards as a large wave formed behind him, reaching a height that went past the clouds themselves. 
 

    “Try and persevere through this one,” he mocked as the wave crashed down on top of George’s tired body. 

 

-o-
 

    Darkness. 
 

    Even though he had his eyes open, George could see nothing. His vision came back slowly as he saw himself in a dimly lit room, upon looking into the mirror which took up the entire wall in front of him, he could see how beaten up he was. The last thing he remembers, a wave crashing down on him, seems to have done its number although he sat there without a drop on him. He looked into his dark, sullen eyes that resembled the eyes of a man who had gone through the unspeakable. His mind felt weak as if he were running on a dull version of his previous one. George didn’t want to admit it, but he knew what had happened; he had lost. The experiment he went through, the one behind this entire simulation that was the forest, Artel, was all part of a test of spirit, and George failed. Everything that had acted like battering rams against the doors of his mental health walls had their success. 
 

    George walked out of the practitioner's house, who had not said a word to him since he started the procedure. Outside, George dragged his feet across the pavement as rumbling thunder echoed through the sky. A gentle pitter patter danced on the top of his brown hair as the rain began to pour. He stood there, allowing his hair to turn black, the added weight of water pushing him down much more than anything he had felt before. 
    

    On his way home, he passing by the pole in which he first saw the ad for his failed treatment. He stopped and looked at it again where he noticed a second paper underneath the one he had torn out. “Don’t do it for others, do it for yourself. You may not believe it, but you have value.” George scoffed and began to crumple the paper up until he felt a tug on his pants. When he turned around, he saw a young girl with her mother, her arm stretched out with a flower in hand. She was wearing a bright, yellow raincoat. 
    

    “I noticed you were looking a bit down,” the girl started, “so I got this little flower to help cheer you up!”
    

    George looked at the mother sheepishly. She shrugged in response.
    

    He took the flower from the little girl, a green chrysanthemum, and held it close as the smell of wet earth filled his nostrils.