The invisible tree in my bedroom

It took me a while to notice it. At first, it was just the occasional fleeting touch on my feet as I was passing by. Easily forgotten, if it registered at all. I’m not at my best in the mornings. If I stumbled on my way to bed at night, on what felt like a branch, sleep was much more important than an explanation. Anyway, nothing was there when I looked. Once, my stumble turned into a fall, but I am a bit clumsy and a lot of things sound like a snapped twig. I thought.

I didn’t realize that my steps turned lighter for a long time. In my half-asleep state I softly threaded on my bedroom floor completely unaware. After all, there was still nothing there for me to see. There was also less stumbling, and breaking, and snapping. The brushing against my feet continued. Then my shins. I noticed it again when one morning it reached my knee. It’s very ticklish. It made me jump and hurry along and somehow, finally, I noticed.

When I scratched my leg while making coffee, all the clues started coming together. And I felt like an idiot. It was obvious, after all, that an invisible tree has somehow grown in my bedroom. What else could it be?

With my answer and a fresh cup, I could move on to more important questions.

Was this an assassination attempt? Has someone planted it, surreptitiously, to engineer a much more fatal fall for me? Was it supposed to grow unnoticed until one of the branches impaled me while I slept? I’m not oblivious enough to miss that, I think. Maybe a branch would have fallen on me when it broke on the ceiling. Maybe the tree itself was evil?

Was the invisible tree in my bedroom sentient? Have I picked it up somewhere, perhaps after walking, unaware, through an invisible forest? Has a seed flown through my window and decided it has found a home? Is it happy there?

Is my tree happy?

How can I make sure? What does it need?

It took me a few tries I admit. There was wet carpet, and some sputtering noises which could have also been fluttering leaves. Similar sounds, those. There was the incident with the gardening shears. There were gentle touches and outlines on the floor, and occasional stumbling still, as there is in every new friendship. We reached an understanding.

I still sometimes forget it’s there. I try not to but invisibility is like that. There are apologies and a gentle branch passing through my hair. I stumble to the kitchen to make us some coffee. The table seems to have moved, but I’m sure it’s nothing. All is well.


Prompt: Invisible



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