The Woodsman and the Snake

The mighty oak had stood for centuries. Chop. No fire, no bolt of lightning, no rot ever humbled it. Chop. The tree had a diameter greater than any tree the land had ever known. Chop. Its branches stretched out even further, drenching the ground in a pool of shade. Chop. The tree was so tall that some believed it poked a hole in the sky and allowed the sun to come through. Chop. Despite its massive size and its long life, no bird roosted on its branches, no squirrel scattered across its bark, no insects made long lines marching up and down its length. Chop. The only adornments were the human remains lying among the gnarled roots. Chop. The woodsman swung his axe with all his strength. Chop. The axe head bit deep into the wood with every stroke but the tree’s enormity made the task nigh impossible. Chop. He grunted pulling the axe out and he threw it back into the tree with the same measured swing. Chop. Entirely focused on his work, he didn’t notice the snake slithering across the ground, coming towards him. Chop.

The snake’s tongue slid out of its head and tasted the air with devilish licks. Chop. The snake softly coiled itself around the woodsman’s tall boot. Chop. The woodsman only felt the jolt of axe into wood and the burning in his chest and arms. Chop. The snake crawled its way up and then wrapped itself around the woodsman’s arm. The woodsman held his axe still and stared into the snake’s black eyes.

“You’ll never finishhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” whispered the snake.

“I can and I will,” replied the woodsman, sure of himself. He resumed his steady swinging of the axe, the snake wrapped around his arm. Chop.

“Ssssssssstop,” susurrated the snake.

The woodsman paid the snake no mind, even though it was constricting its body around the woodsman’s forearm. Chop. The axe dug at an odd angle into the tree and it gave a jolt that went through the woodsman’s arm and loosened the snake’s vise. The snake slinked up around the woodsman’s neck and the snake’s black tongue flittered in his ear as it whispered, “You are weak.”

Chop.

The snake shook its rattle and tightened its hold.

The woodsman was losing breath and vision but he knew the massive tree was still in front of him, and still he swung the axe. Chop. Many had tried to cut down the tree and all had failed. Chop. The bones and teeth and rotted flesh that formed a ring around the great tree stood as a testament to the monolith’s unyielding might. The snake loosened around his neck and crawled back down to his arm and sank two big fangs into the top of his hand.

The woodsman dropped his axe and grabbed the snake with his other hand. He had to rip it out and the fangs tore his skin in two jagged streaks. The snake tried to bite again but the woodsman swung it against the tree, as hard as he did his axe, and he broke the snake’s skull against the wood. He dropped the snake and it lay there dead, no longer a threat, but in his anger the woodsman picked up his axe and began to hack the viper to pieces. Chop chop chop. He hacked away in white-hot fury and in his blindness he missed and struck himself. Chop.

He had sharpened the blade to use against the massive tree and while it failed to strike down the oak it cut clean through bone, chopping off his left foot above the ankle. He collapsed in a heap and the blood soaked into the ground, into the roots. He died from blood loss and the wild animals picked his bones clean and the wind and rain and soil buried his bones and his axe beside the tree, underneath the great canopy of shade with only his skull resting above the ground. Snakes slithered in and out of his skull through the eye sockets.