The Miracle Tree || Creative writing
The Miracle Tree
Fuente
Once upon a time, in a town whose name I cannot remember, a tree so gigantic that its branches covered all the houses of its inhabitants like a sky. The first time I got there I met very superstitious people, they even used to wash themselves with mango leaves to avoid the terrible effects of the evil eye. On moonless nights, they sat in front of fires praying long until dawn, supposedly to scare away demonic creatures. But the strangest custom was to bury the dead, who were buried around the great tree so that its roots would bring them back to life on the eve of the final judgment.
I was curious about their customs, and although they invited me to follow them, I was unable to join in those crazy rituals. The noise of the city had taught me not to believe the imagination of fans, and even more so after suffering several scams by a psychic who tried to cure my insomnia problems but only ended up making them worse. My job in that town was to extract oil, or at least ensure the proper functioning of the wells that were drilled in the land to find the valuable fossil gold. When it was overtime and I had to supervise the work, I listened to the songs of the villagers around the great tree. They begged him to lead their dead to salvation in exchange for their silver coins and precious jewels. They threw them to the roots that sprouted from the ground, believing that if the next day they disappeared, the Great Tree had heard their pleas.
-It's a miracle! –They sang to the golden rays of dawn to show that their treasures had been disappeared by the tree- He has listened to us!
Soon after I learned that superstitions actually appeared with the arrival of a shaman sent from the heavens. He was like his shepherd, and they were like his sheep. They did everything he told them, even milking the cows backwards because the shaman believed that that way the milk would never turn sour. The man walked from house to house dressed in animal skins and with a large winged hat the color of oranges. Of course he was a charlatan, although he really didn't interest me at all. Until I recognized him one day when he visited the facilities where I worked as a petroleum engineer. He was the same usurer who had cheated me with my insomnia problems. As soon as he saw me, he completely forgot the reason for his visit and took off like a whitewashed coyote.
The jewels that the credulous of the people threw with so much faith at the foot of the tree were not to guide the dead, nor did they disappear by a miracle from heaven. The shaman collected them when everyone returned to his house after a serenade of chants and prayers, and then traded them for luxurious things. I know because he himself confessed it to me the day he tried to bribe me to shut my .
-You lie to them like he lied to me. –I confronted him.
-It's not a lie, just another way of working. –He alluded.
-Is a gotcha. –I insisted.
-It can be a win - win. He hinted with a wink.
I immediately demanded a refund for his lies, and he accepted almost without hesitation. He gave me back the money I once invested in his séances, and he also gifted me some priceless jewels. Before long they moved me to another place, and I really felt a relief to get away from so many idiots. The funny thing is that, with the jewels that he gave me, I hired several charlatans who were in charge of spreading the rumor that the shaman of the town was actually a false prophet, so, according to what I have heard, they did not take long lynch him and exile him from the town of the Great Tree. I don't know if that's the name of that town, I would go there to remember it again if it weren't for the great catastrophe that disappeared from the town the same day that the tree collapsed like a heavy comet on the houses of its inhabitants.
Reflection: When you allow something false to meet your expectations, it will not take long for you to collapse next to the miracle of the farce.