Fix Me
Part I -
We live in a small town. One of the smallest, actually. No more than a few hundred residents located way out here in Woodsville, much unlike the major metropolises like Treetown or Woodstock. They house millions of us. But even those cities, the largest ones, pale in comparison to the world’s capital – it houses one. No, not one billion, not one thousand. Just one. One man. Yes! A man! They say he’s the only one – the Carver!
He lives in a modest log cabin out off in the midst of the woods, with a wide, darkened door at the center. The door never opens, though. Yep, that’s right. He never comes out. Not once…at least since our kind has been ‘round. There are small doors, though, just on the lower part of the door. Almost like a log-dog door, if you will. Two of them. The one on the left opens hundreds of times a year, when a new woodling is born (but more on that later). The door on the right almost never opens and, when it does, it is opened for a woodling to return to the Carver, but no woodling who has entered ever exits again.
Back to when we are born- over the thousands of years, we have had various experts try and determine how, exactly, we come to be. We know we come from the Cabin, but not much else. Some say the Cabin is just a myth. A part of our imagination to explain the concept. Few hold that view. A rapidly growing view, though, is that there is no Carver. I know! But many believe this. You can’t entirely blame them, though. No one has ever seen him. Most, though, believe in both the Cabin and the Carver and that, every so often, he finishes up his newest carving and releases it upon us – a new woodling!
I would tell you of what is inside, but no one knows. The cabin has no windows to peer into and no woodling has ever been able to speak of what happened inside. I really wish I could let you know- I’d love to know! But I guess that’s where my story leads.
First, more about me and about the “woodling way.” I am what is called a Forester. We are supreme members of the woodling government, much like a mayor or governor. Each town, when reaching a residence of over 100, is assigned a new Forester. They are responsible for record keeping, maintenance, and general management of the town. I have it easy, here in Woodsville, but the Forester in Treetown often have many Assistreants to manage various things.
I’ve been leading Woodsville for roughly 250 years, now, give or take a few. Very few residents here ever move on to Treetown or Woodstock, often enjoying the quiet, but, every now and again, there comes one little woodling who takes world by storm. On other occasions, there’s a woodling who makes himself remembered for other reasons, neither good nor bad.
I’d like to tell you the story of the life of one such woodling, a dear resident of our Woodsville. His name is Lucus – yes, with two u’s. He is in the 3 tier billionth category of woodling .That is, he is somewhere between 3 billion and 4 billion – only the Foresters may know the exact year of birth. It helps avoid discrimination against the new carved.
Lucus wasn’t the…smallest fellow, to put it kindly. More round than slender. He couldn’t much help it, though. Just how he was carved. Some woodlings take solace in that fact, others become bitter toward the carver. Often times these woodlings retreat into themselves, though. They feel as if they are cursed or were made incorrectly. A “slip of the carver’s hand” if you will.
These woodlings are greeted with anything ranging from pity, love, or disgust. Some believe that they are perfect simply because they were carved, others feel bad that the woodling has such a downward appearance, and, most, feel like the woodling is a disgrace due to the carving “error.”
Lucus wasn’t the worst case I had seen in my years as Forester, but he certainly was not a blessed woodling. A short stump of a woodster, with elongated feet and large toes. Shoes were of a dark shade of green and his pants a slightly lighter shade of blue. His torso was, as said earlier, more circular than anything, with red blotches scatted about. People often mocked that they could push him over and use him as a ball…His arms, quite the opposite of the rest of his body, were gangly. If one only saw his arms, you’d think he were emaciated and sick.
His face, though, appeared to be stretched vertically, with just enough room to squeeze in the parts necessary. Mouth was like speck above the chin and nose a dot right above. His eyes were perfectly circular, with a faint bluish tint in the middle. And his ears? Drawn on, as if it stenciled in at the last moment. Worst of all – he was made of Grey Ash wood.
Lucus, just a few days after his debut, was transferred to me from another small town Forester nearby. He was too busy handling a rather bad case of mistletoe killing off some of the forest to handle a new woodling.
On his first day, he kept smiling as wide as his adorably thin face would allow. To him, there was no standard of beauty. He hadn’t seen many of our kind yet and no one had impressed their ideas on him…yet. He walked with such a bounce in his step down my office hallway, coming to see me. I pulled out his file and told him he would need to begin attending Wood Shop for the next few years, after which he would choose a career.
He nodded his head in delight, saying “Sounds great! When do I start?”
“Next week, if that’s good.” I replied.
“Sure!”
I gave him a few additional details about his teachers, classes, and expectations, as well as his key to his temporary home, while in school. He then hopped out of his chair and began skipping out of my office, shutting the door behind him.
-End Part I