The Wooden Cage
Saplings of various ages and sizes already block the entrances of nearly every structure in the camp. Only Matthews’ cabin is still open. He gathers a pile of pinecones, collects their seeds, and pours them into a small perimeter trench he’s dug around the cabin. In several years, he imagines they will form the living wooden bars of a cage. He places the final seeds in front of his door.
Inside, Matthews will remain with a series of fabricated memories, mementos of the imagined history of the campground. Matthews cannot bear the thought that the leaking wall could be discovered. The water seeps from the wall, incessant. Malicious, he thinks, otherworldly even. Whatever other plane the water may be leaking from, surely, he thinks, the cage will grow there too. The trees will contain it; the trees will not let it escape.
