“Decry of the werewolf flower-moon,” or “They always come back”

He had always been in love with the story of The Giving Tree. It was something that deeply rooted his feelings on human nature and relationships. Since a child, his mother would read the book like a Bible, every night, before bed.

“And the tree was happy,” She’d read, a misty look in her eyes, kissing her son goodnight.

Something about giving and giving and giving without any thought or purpose other than giving away everything you could give…

It lit up something inside of him just as much as it terrified him.

The love of pure, unadulterated selflessness: he was enraptured; stunned, puzzled.

He grew up with the same kind of passion for giving: becoming a cancer biologist and bioengineer.

He studied all sorts of plants, house plants, tropical plants and of course, trees. Of course, some synthetic and medicinal qualities have been found in household plants and trees, having already proven effective against some form of covid and cancers in mice.

That was when he had a stroke of genius hit his pained brain: what if we could synthesize human cells with trees to grow hybrids? ‘Madness,’ he thought with a certain glee, clinging to his old, dog-earred childhood book. His mother has long since passed on.

He didn’t like giving. He actually hated it. The idea of giving up everything for almost nothing seemed like a very simple and idiotic way of receiving, “love”.

But, he knew humans were a sucker for that sort of thing. So he put in an advertisement that was about cancer research and there was a blow up.

“Sign up now for our line of cancer research trials! The most important and new evidence of our findings that could end cancer once and for all! Please call or come by the the Loland Observatory and Greenhouse for more information.”

It didn’t mention being compensated by any sort of payment, yet people rushed in to see what they could do. It was because of the insane idea, maybe, that created the buzz.

“You’ve made a monster!” Some decried. “A Frankenstein, or worse, a mutant werewolf!”

He laughed it off. People gave themselves up willingly. That’s what made it so easy—-beautiful.

“Eat a thorny dick!” A woman yelled at him, running out of the observatory to loudly vomit outside the entrance.

‘They always come back,’ he thought with pride. The mostly positive research was published in scientific journals and released with mixed success and opinion. These new synthetic, hybrid cells were making progress with several types of cancer treatments.

But, for some people, it’s never enough.

He soon realized that people were the only thing standing in the way of true happiness and love.

He wanted everyone to know that important sort of love.

He walked through the catacombs and corridors of his home, his life, the world he designed and the work he devoted himself to.

The trees that were planted were so ugly and yet, pretty. Women and men who gave themselves up for the chance to become part of the important movement were canonized. Forever swollen and stuck in a stasis of living death.

Forever growing yet always feeling the urge to settle in the dark roots.

He’d scrape and rip and cut off. He’d inject, water, pour moonlight and give artificial light.

He was right, she was right. They were all right.

Shel Silverstein was right, too.

He knew what they wanted. What they all needed. He expanded his research across the globe. He ended the pain and misery of cancer. He ended with so many lovely Giving Trees, too.

And they were all very happy.