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Restored Republic via a GCR: Summary of Events for July 26, 2017

Summary of Events Restored Republic via a GCR July 26 2017 Compiled by Judy Byington, MSW, LCSW, ret, CEO, Child Abuse Recovery www.ChildA...

Monday, June 26, 2017

"Strange Tale Break? The Green Alliance" by Dezerro - 6.26.17

Entry Submitted by Dezerro at 6:46 PM EDT on June 26, 2017

The Green Alliance

Tri Peaks jutted straight up out of dirt and tangled vines in valiant but futile effort of eventual escape. The massive carpet of thornweed held its captive mountain in a death lock of dark love, strangling, twisted, and eternal. Such was Dan Weldon's final thought before drifting down into the forest of his dreams and nightmares of many years.

Finally here he was and he watched the peaks disappear behind ever thickening walls of tough interwoven local foliage. His chute had opened with the muted pop reminiscent of many training jumps back at Base One in preparation for this journey to investigate an anomaly he had promoted as requiring investigation.

He waited until the last second to yank the cords to send his chute laterally under the huge outstretched branches of a massive tree and into a clearing of sorts beneath. He landed with a roll and came up on his feet, then tripping on a winding vine snaking through the bed of grass below him, lay on his back looking up at all the green and brown life of this place.

Fearing snakes or other dangers hidden in the grass he rolled to his feet and freed himself from the chute's harness and took a quick look around. It was a quick 360 degree recon of the immediate scene and done quietly crouched just as he had been taught. He noted that lying on his back for a few seconds was not taught, but he had felt compelled to stare up through all that growth and wait for something.

"This place is so alive but it feels so dead." He whispered to the air. The air answered with silence.

He pulled the comm from his belt and pressed a button. "Hit the clearing we spotted just fine Clancey, be stowing the chute in a few minutes." Silence on the other end was something he had dreamed about but had never imagined would come to pass. In some strange way it made perfect sense and he had the odd thought that he had always really known that it would happen this way. Chills coursed his back and once again he scanned around the clearing, this time noting dark narrow trails spoking out from the clearing between trees and vines and leaves as big as his torso.

He walked over to the pack he had carried under his safety chute which had been harnessed to his chest. Reaching to unflap the pouch containing his protein drink he watched the remaining stream of thick liquid seep down into the grass and disappear. The heavy plastic bottle had ruptured and given up its contents to the forest. Again a sense of deja-vu gently wrapped around him and made him believe. He took his pack over to a tree at the clearing edge, set it down, and sat next to it with his back against rough bark.

An hour later later he awoke with a start realizing his hunger would require immediate attention. He drank some water from a canteen and began a search for edible leaves or roots, a subject in which he was well versed. He had always had an intense interest in and unusual natural knowledge of dense forest of any kind. An odd natural calling for a city boy many had noted along the interesting course his life had taken.

He soon was munching eagerly on a leaf and root sandwich and washing it down with water. One more, this time with extra roots, disappeared deep into his waiting stomach, and with a final gulp from the canteen he finally felt fed.

He tried the radio again with no luck and with a low "damn" went back to the tree and sat down and fell asleep nearly at once. Rest is best to digest, his mother had always rhymed after dinner. She’d never had any trouble getting him to gobble up the huge salads, picked from her personal gardens, which always accompanied meals. Her deep green eyes had always sparkled so brightly when he ate them. First the planting, then the harvest, she’d said, a verse which had always given him strange chills.

She co-owned a vast chain of nurseries back on Earth and their house brimmed with rare, some extremely so, species of potted plants, and gardens rimmed the entire property. She’d also authored a research paper, “Alliance Of Species” which he had pored over and thoroughly enjoyed. He dreamed of cells, dividing and flattening out into huge leaves and gliding away across the sky.

He awoke with a start, his feet itching furiously. After closer examination he thought it may be a rash, perhaps a reaction to this strange place, and decided to search out some mud to soothe them. Certain kinds of mud made excellent balms. Wait a second, he thought, and he took the canteen and partially emptied it in a low spot in the center of the clearing. He found an old piece of branch and dug two shallow holes large enough for his feet.

He removed his boots and socks and stepped down into the holes and wriggled his feet to help mix the water with the dirt. The forming mud felt so wonderful. He cracked open tired eyes, still heavy with recent sleep, and tried to look around, but everything faded to a vague haze, the forest spinning in a dizzying blur.

Terror crept toward him from afar, shook him, and he stared, frozen in place, into the waiting ground, a statue in this mad gallery of green, this foreign and wild form of life shrieking out a siren call across dark space for more to add to itself and grow, and grow...and he knew then he had been called here so long ago.

He saw ripples in the grass slowly flowing toward his feet in green sea-like waves, and the terror of the hunted haunted his soul.

He knew now with greater raging terror and a thundering heart the fate of trees and plants and bushes and grass anchored forever to unending masses of dirt and rock and mud and madness, eternally standing, moving only with the urging of some occasional free and roaming breeze.

He could only breathe now as his feet raged with fiery tingles and growing aching surged up his legs.

Slowly growing tendrils, tiny and hairlike at first, then thickening, burrowed down from the soles of his feet, forming into tiny roots thicker by the second, by the minute, deeper and deeper, curving and probing among even deeper densities of dirt and mud and buried rock.

Then his feet and legs, merging, mingling with these growing roots -- a terrifying preparation for what he would become – he felt muscles forming to wet and wooden sinews, bones yielding in mad cellular conversions, reaching for an earthen home below.

He prayed with all his soul for a kindly veil of coma to rescue his raging senses, to send him to a place where he would never know what he had once been yet had so hideously become. But with awareness raising ever higher, he knew he would always know, forever.

As Dan Weldon faded from mere human, he peered across the clearing to those who would need no introduction, for as he became one of them, they welcomed him, a new and flourishing life forming, growing, and taking final root in this new home among the stars.

~~~

- Dezerro

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