“In 1971, astronaut Stuart Roosa took 500 tree seeds aboard Apollo 14 as part of his personal luggage. The seeds orbited the moon 34 times aboard Apollo 14′s command module. When he returned to Earth, the seeds were planted, and five years later, saplings were sent all around the country (and even overseas) as part of the American bicentennial celebrations.
“Shortly after that, everyone forgot about them. Early in 2017 they were rediscovered…”
“And that’s my report on the trunars.”
“All right. That was…fine. Thank you, Danny. Are there any questions for Danny, class? Yes, Bishop.”
“How many trunars are there?”
“Um, well, originally there were five hundred seeds which were taken into space. So far NASA has rediscovered about two-hundred and thirty of them and hundreds of saplings.”
“Where are the rest?”
“Well, they may never have sprouted. Or maybe they just haven’t matured yet.”
“Or maybe we haven’t found them.”
“Yes, that’s possible.”
“Raise your hand to speak, Roger. Class, how many of you have gone to see the confined trunars?”
“Me.”
“I have.”
“Me too.”
“So have I.”
“Is it true that some of the trunars have died while in prison?”
“It’s not a prison, Taylor. Prisons are for people. The trunars are just contained.”
“Yes, some of them died. Thirteen of them. I think.”
“Why did they die?”
“Well, they—“
“Let’s stick to questions about what the trunars are like.”
“How many times did the trunar seeds orbit the earth?”
“Thirty-four. It was on one of the orbits that the seeds started to germinate.”
“But how did they grow without being planted in the ground or being watered?”
“No one knows. The astronauts aboard Apollo 14 noticed that they had sprouted when they returned to Earth. Saplings from the planted seeds were sent to various places around the globe.”
“When did they first start to walk?”
“Ah, well, they don’t walk, Susie. They…drift across the land. Isn’t that right, Danny?”
“Yes, Miss Kline.”
“They drift, Susie. Like any light trash or bush would drift in the wind.”
“The earliest reports of, um, drifting trunars was about six months ago, I think.”
“Where are they…drifting to?”
“What do you mean, Susie?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What other questions are there for Danny about the trunars?”
“Do they have to water them?”
“They do water them— well, they tried watering them, yes, but, they don’t seem to absorb the water like regular trees. And they don’t absorb carbon—“
“Have they tried planting them back in the ground?”
“Well, yes, I think that was tried. In a public park in Pennsylvania sometime last year. But they, uh, started…drifting again. They don’t seem to want—they don’t seem to stay planted.”
“How do they move? Where did they go?”
“I’m not sure if—“
“Do they have feet?”
“Well, not rea— not—“
“Do they talk?”
“Well, no.”
“These are trees, boys and girls, not people or even animals. They don’t talk. They don’t move by themselves. They don’t even release oxygen.”
“Why are they locked up?”
“Contained, Victor. Contained.”
“Yes. Contained.”
“Well, the trunars, when they are loose, seem to cause a lot of damage to property and in some cases people have been hurt.”
“Yes, indeed. They are a big nuisance in our neighborhoods and we need to keep them from causing destruction and injury.”
“We should blast them back.”
“I’m sorry. Who said that?”
“Me.”
“Raise your hand, please. We’re not animals.”
“Sorry, Miss Kline.”
“Repeat the question, Riley.”
“It wasn’t a question. I said we should blast them back to space.”
“Okay, Riley, that’s—“
“It’s where they belong.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Riley.”
“Sorry, Miss Kline.”
“These are just plants. I don’t believe they—”
“How do we know for sure?”
“I just told you, Riley. Because they’re plants. Just big things that are—”
“But—”
“Riley—”
“Yeah. Has NASA or anyone tried to communicate with them?”
“Now, James, how would you communicate with a tree?”
“They’re trunars, Miss Kline.”
“Yes, but they are trees.”
“Trees that have been to space.”
“Trees that move by themselves.”
“Not by themselves. And certainly not because they—”
“I heard that some of them tried to break into a rocket launch silo.”
“Trees do not break into places, Heather. They caused millions of dollars’ worth of damage to the complex in Florida before they were finally netted and put into a holding enclosure.”
“And wasn’t there a group of trunars who tried to stow away on the last Space X launch?”
“I’d hardly call it stowing away, Riley. They drifted onto the launch pad, disrupting the takeoff and caused the death of three astronauts.”
“Maybe they drifted there for a reason.”
“They did not—”
“I think we should try to talk to them.”
“We’ve already discussed this. They do not talk—”
“I think they move by themselves.”
“Raise your hand.”
“I think so too.”
“Maybe if we tried talking to them they would stop causing damage.”
“They are trees.”
“Trees that move on their own power.”
“I hardly think that’s possible, Riley.”
“Maybe they—”
“That’s enough, Riley.”
“But—”
“Riley. You can see me after class.”
“Yes, Miss Kline.”
“We should try to talk to them.”
“They could have brains.”
“In their trunks.”
“They could be suffering.”
“I said raise your hand. I am in charge of this classroom and you will obey the rules. Can’t you people think before you just start spouting out of your mouths?!”
—
Matthew is a teaching-artist, playwright and independent filmmaker. His latest film is titled Neptune (www.lasthouseproductions.com). You can find his fiction and poetry at the Newer York, Paragraph Planet, Postcard Shorts, Linguistic Erosion, The Eunoia Review, Danse Macabre and Streetcake Magazine. His plays have been produced nationally and internationally by theater companies including Edmonds Driftwood Players, Pink Banana Theatre, Cupcake Lady Productions and Screaming Media Gi60. His short play Walk, Don’t Walk is published by Pennster Media. Visit him on the web at www.matthewkonkel.com.
