The Tree of Life: Book 1

By L.K. Ward

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have all your decisions made for you? What you wear, how much you can eat, or even what job you will have?

Able Smith is about to turn sixteen, and this means the Life Line Marking process is close at hand. In this society, young people's place in society in decided by the Tree of Life.

The Tree of Life has infiltrated every part of Able's life. He knows his father was forever changed because of The Tree, and as Able's birthday approaches, the thought of his own future haunts him.

When the Tree of Life takes control of Able's existence, his entire future is at stake. While he finds deeper meaning about who he is, the knowledge will come a great cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667806693

Book preview

cover.jpg

Copyright 2021

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-66780-668-6 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-66780-669-3 (eBook)

Contents

Chapter One: Able

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Chapter Four:

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven:

Chapter Eight:

Chapter Nine:

Chapter Ten:

Chapter Eleven:

Chapter Twelve:

Chapter Thirteen:

Chapter Fourteen:

Chapter Fifteen:

Chapter Sixteen:

Chapter Seventeen:

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen:

Chapter Twenty:

Chapter Twenty-One:

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Chapter One: Able

O

rientation Day has arrived,

and I am excited to discover my possible place in the world, at least, this is what I tell my mom as she shovels hot communion food onto my plate at 6:00 AM. I tap my rations cup and give her my best, I need caffeine to function expression as I slide across the brown communion bench to eat.

Mom, I want to be alert for my Orientation. I won’t ask for any at communion tonight. Promise. I grin the way I know makes her heart melt and gets me what I want every time. She looks at me with her eyes narrowed and forehead crinkled, but a smile is tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Fine Able, one cup. The aroma of the fresh beans fills my nose as she pours the dark liquid into my mug. The coffee rations The Tree gives us is labeled by caffeine levels and mom always asks for the strongest blend. Father doesn’t approve of my coffee drinking or mom’s coffee splurges, but his dissent doesn’t keep mom from sharing her coffee rations with me.

Mom sits down at the table and sips her juice ration as I drink my coffee and move the food around on my plate. I study her face in silence as she reads the morning Tree Newsletter, Little grey hairs have invaded her hairline and wrinkles have spread in the corners of her deep blue eyes. People say we look alike, but lately I don’t recognize myself in her; she looks so tired. I know what my success at Orientation means to my mom and my family.

Able, don’t forget to put on your new grey shirt. Mom says after sipping the last of her juice ration.

Do I really have to wear the shirt? It’s boring. Who cares if I wear grey anyway? I know who cares even as I ask the question. Father. Father cares, and says The Tree cares so I should too, but I don’t.

Don’t whine. Your dad says you need to wear it so I bought it for you out of our clothes rations. You should be grateful. I immediately feel bad for complaining. Mom is constantly defending my father. Ever since he started his new position at The Tree, he’s been so confrontational, and mom has transformed into a weak and apologetic shadow of the strong woman she used to be.

Grateful that father actually thought about me, or grateful that I got a new boring shirt? I notice that my fists are balled, and angry tears threaten to show in my eyes.

Mom looks at me, her eyes heavy, Just wear the shirt Able. She begins to clear the communion table and as she approaches the sink she quietly adds, Your dad wants to see you before we leave.

In case you couldn’t tell, father and I don’t really get along. Once he started his job at The Tree and before he got his big promotion from Scientist to Research Facilitator everything was fine, but after? After, my fun loving, ball throwing, joking, and laughing dad was replaced with a bitter, angry, rule following automaton that speaks only positively of The Tree. I gruffly grab my now empty coffee mug and start toward the sink. Before I get there, I grimace; mom is clutching the edge of the sink, her knuckles white and her shoulders hunched. The mention of my father seems to have made her weak; she sways a little on the balls of her feet.

Mom? Are you okay?

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and faces me. Reaching up with a smile, mom holds my face in her hands. She ruffles my hair, something she used to do when I was younger, and sighs. Still hesitant I give her a reserved hug, but she squeezes back greedily as if this moment will pass too soon and she wants desperately to remember how things are. As she clings to me, the smell of roses caresses my senses. Mom carries the smell of the garden she tends in the backyard with her. Father disapproves of her hobby, but I love how the scent of outside sticks to her skin and hair like a sweet perfume.

Pulling back, her eyes focus intently on mine before she says, Able, go see your dad and get ready. We need to leave early enough so the commuter can get us to the Orientation Building on time. She quickly adds, I know you will do just fine at the Orientation, and I know you will be marked with a job that will make things better, for all of us. She holds my face in her hands again and kisses my forehead, another gesture she hasn’t made in years. The grin that mirrors my own is on her lips and I return the look before starting toward father’s study.

As I approach father’s study room door, I brace myself for what he might say in the next few minutes. It will probably be something about the importance of The Tree and the Life Line Marking or some remark about his recurring disappointment in me. I once, honestly but foolishly, thought when I neared my marking date father would begin preparing me for my future by being my dad again, a caring and supportive dad, but instead he locked himself tighter in that room he calls his home office.

Let’s get this over with, I mumble to myself as I push the door open and wait for my father to address me.

Hello Able, father says without looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. Taking off his wire glasses he looks at me, probably securitizing the lack of the boring grey shirt I still refuse to wear. I nod so he knows I acknowledge him speaking, but I don’t trust my mouth to not say what is going through my head.

Your Orientation is today, correct? he puts his glasses back on and returns his attention to the papers that I assume are from his work with The Tree. At this angle I notice that although my mom has aged drastically my father looks the same as I have always known him. Dark hair, piercing grey eyes, and an expression that demands authority, but has a hint of kindness around the eyes.

I clear my thoughts and reply with careful words, Yes sir. I am to be trained on the Marking process of the Life Lines. I keep my response short and unemotional. Perhaps if I sound as robotic as he does, we can avoid an argument.

You realize the importance of Orientation for our family, yes? He squints his grey eyes and peers over the top of his glasses frames that slide down his nose. Of course, father would make this about him and not about me. When he says family he really means him. My success reflects on him.

I swallow those thoughts and mutter through clenched teeth, Yes sir. I realize the importance of the process and how my Marking defines and determines my role as a contributor to society and represents the integrity of this family. I leave out the especially of you because of your position with The Tree part that echoes loudly in my head. I shift my weight from one foot to the other trying not to let my annoyance and anger show. Father has a gift of making people feel uncomfortable. His silent abuse and his judging mannerisms suck all the confidence out of me and leave me feeling suffocated. His hands, words, and mind are much less forgiving since his promotion and new work assignment. The Tree has changed him and I don’t want them changing me too.

Father stands up, jarring me from my thoughts and back to the present, Good. I’m glad we have an understanding. You are dismissed. He motions for me to leave his presence with a quick flick of his hand, and then adds as I am almost out of his office. Able, don’t jeopardize your future by being foolish. Be wise in your responses to the questions asked; The Tree will be made aware of your behavior at Orientation. They will determine your future with the Life Line Marking. You don’t want to disappoint me, or your mother. He adds hastily. Oh, and Able, make sure you change your shirt. You are not a child anymore.

I want to slam the door behind me, but instead I shut it quietly and walk promptly upstairs to my room where the shirt is waiting for me on my bed. I pull my favorite red hoodie over my head that I had intended to wear to Orientation and grab the grey button up shirt. I know it is just a shirt, but it feels like more than that, like this is just one more aspect of my life The Tree can control, my clothes, my father, my food, and soon, my future. Putting the shirt on I stand in front of the floor length mirror on my closet door examining myself. Mom’s reflection appears behind me and her thin fingers straighten the grey collar and pluck small pieces of red lint from my hair. Resting her hands on my shoulders she looks at the two of us in the mirror. She is just barely tall enough to see herself over my shoulder.

A knock on the door distracts both of us as Zoe bounces on her toes in the doorway.

May I come in? Her contagious smile loosens the tension that had gathered in my shoulders and in the air after talking to father. Zoe, my dear sister is so full of life and happiness it seems impossible that she is the daughter of the same man who sits in the office downstairs. Not waiting until I tell her yes, she bounds up to me and wraps her arms around my neck. We are nearly the same height and because we are only a year apart, we have both shared our nervousness for this day in private.

I’ll leave you two to talk, but you need to be downstairs ready to go in fifteen minutes Able. Mom taps her fingers on my door frame and quietly walks down the stairs. Zoe and I wait until the muffled sounds of her footsteps indicate she is out of earshot and we both exhale exchanging glances.

Are you nervous? Zoe grasps my hands in hers and looks into my eyes. Mom says she thinks we can read each other’s minds just by looking at each other. She may be right, especially in regard to Zoe. She has a way of seeing and understanding things that I can’t, and I don’t really think she should be able to comprehend. When we were little, she would climb into my bed and I would wake from a nightmare to her arms wrapped around me. She consistently offers words of comfort for things I haven’t expressed I was upset about, at least not out loud. She just, knows things about people. Zoe can see into your soul, pick you apart, and put you back together with a simple glance. She is kind though; if my father had the same ability there would be trail of carnage behind him.

What do you think? I mutter while running a hand through my hair and over my clothes attempting