We have watched the destroyer over the course of three suns. It seems like a squirrel, never staying in one place too long, forgetful, and rather on edge. It is our conclusion that, like many others, the destroyer must be...re-educated.

William tumbled to the floor for the fifth time in under an hour. His head was spinning, he could barely see straight.

“Boss? You sick again?” His employee glanced at him, concerned.

“I’m fine, George, thanks.” His voice shook although he tried to keep it steady.

He picked himself up and grabbed his clipboard.

“You tell the boys I think i’ll just play overseer today. I don’t think I could be trusted with an axe, much less a saw, right now.”

“I agree, boss.” George turned to leave, then turned back and added, “If I may be frank, boss, I think you need to go visit a doctor...or a psychiatrist or something.”

“Just go inform the boys.” WIlliam snapped back.

“Yes, sir.” George left, shaking his head.

The worker left, leaving William alone in the cabin. Outside, it was getting dark, branches rapped against the window, dead leaves from cut down trees blew past. There was definitely a storm coming.

William opened the door, bracing himself against the heavy wind. He took a step outside, and collapsed onto grass. He pulled himself up, his head clearing. Everything was sharper than it should have been. His clipboard was nowhere in sight. The sun seemed to smile on him. Everything was greener than he had known was possible. The trees he had cut down lie on the ground, fungi blossoming from their trunks. He was lifted off his feet, lighter than a feather, climbing an imaginary staircase to the tree tops. He sat on a cloud of leaves, wondering why they were so firm. The tree lifted him into the clouds, and he let himself relax on his back. Above, a single word danced just out of his vision. He squinted, trying to make it out. As he was coming within view of it, a black line came screaming down on him, growing steadily larger as it drew nearer. It hit him like a club, his whole body searing in pain, like it had cut him in half. It buzzed away, with a roar like a chainsaw.

He woke, groaning, in a soft pillow, beeping and tubes all around him.
That quickly lapsed into a dome of branches, every tube becoming a twig, every beep becoming a bird chirping. He was wrapped in the branches of a tree, his body once again ever so light. The tree set him on the ground, seemed to cry as it waved, though how he knew this he didn’t know. He raised a hand to wave back, and as he did, four letters appeared on the bark of the trunk.

WHAM. That was what it said. The word in the sky- he could now clearly recall- it was WHAM too. But now, the tree seemed to point at him. WHAM. William Hadvar Alexander Mack. It was him. The tree pulled him into a hug, and he faded back to the soft pillow with beeping and tubes.

He gagged, struggling to sit up. A soft voice cooed to him, soothing him back to the bed. He pulled the tubes out of his arm, eyes wild. He had to find his tree. Alarms went off, blaring and hurting his ears. He ran down the hall, his muscular frame trembling from weakness.

He didn’t stop. He kept going until there was no further to go. And at the end of the hallway, he dove for the window. He could feel the blood trickling down his arms from the cuts. He landed in the branches of a tree, his bones broken and bent at weird angles. He hung upside down by his legs, and came face to face with first his carving, then the words Miss Me? And then...WHAM.