For Shits and Giggles [2024]

Prologue

To whoever's out there,

There was a time when I believed we were chosen for something extraordinary. Like the good kind of extraordinary. Not so much anymore.

In Pleasantwood, death is just a transient state. It's a cruel fate that defies all we've ever known about the natural order of things. We're trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth, although rebirth is putting it kindly. It's true that we wake up each morning good as new. But it's not a new life we're born into. We're not born at all. It's the same life and painful existence from the day before. As if death were meaningless. Because here, it actually is. It's as simple as going to sleep at night or running to the store.

It wasn't always like this. But God, where do I even begin?

Pleasantwood is a little town in upstate New York, just West of the Adirondacks. It's usually cold here. Even in the warmer months, rain touches down like icy, dead fingers. The winters are harsh, dark, and very long. It's not ideal, but this place is my home, and it's been my home my entire life.

Look, I understand Pleasantwood is a funny name. But we were named after our founders Sophie and Jack Pleasant. Inane, I know. We all learned it in school. But truthfully, the name did fit. Everyone got along. We helped our neighbors, watched over the children, cared for our elderly, the whole lot. No one ever left, no one ever came, so we grew close. That is until my parents, anyway. They said the town had lost its soul or something, then went off to live at this beatnik commune somewhere in rural Colorado. Haven't seen them since. It was the summer right after my high school graduation. Their house became mine, and I stayed. I fought them so hard to stay. For 18 years of my life, I'd been happy here. Why would I leave?

And life went on. I went to the local college, graduated, and opened up a café with my best friends Fior and Paola. That's when it happened. A giant olive tree, with a trunk as thick as five grown men and leaves that fanned out like the sun, appeared in the town square one day. No one knew where it came from or who put it there. It was just there, from one day to the next. At first, we thought it was a gift from Heaven, the way its leaves would glow yellow, or sometimes red. It was magical. Beautiful. Once was a miracle; but twice was an anomaly. People would sit up in their caskets or gasp awake at their own funerals. Once, Disco spent an entire evening screaming and burning alive inside a crematory chamber. Can you believe he came back from that? The Tree didn't let him die. It won't let us die. Or rather, it won't let us stay dead.

Sounds great, right? What would you do if death was no longer a concern? Would you explore the world and dive as deep into the ocean as possible just to see what's down there? Maybe you'd finally learn that new language, or instrument, or how to play chess since now you have all the time in the world. Would you ride your motorcycle as fast as possible, bobbing and weaving through traffic like a video game? That's precisely what it was like. The adrenaline junkies were in thrill-seeker heaven. The academics had a new phenomenon to study, and the philosophers had a new existence to ponder. The careless had even less reason to be careful.

But it was more than just that. It's like the Tree reached deep into our cores and pulled out whatever was hiding in there. Our anxieties, fears, ambitions, and desires—all dragged to the surface and worn like a scarf that wraps around our throats, getting tighter each time we try to pull it off. My boyfriend's love for me became an obsession. Fior's somewhat endearing shyness became anxiety so intense that once she drowned when the rest of us were all nearby. She couldn't will herself to shout for help. Santiago was always trying to save somone, even those who didn't need saving, so he became a superhero (and I mean that literally. Like, he can fly now.)

As for me, it's true that I've been called spineless before. A pushover, or coward, or people pleaser. Harsh, right? Though it is unkind, it's not exactly untrue. Especially now. It's gone beyond people-pleasing. Pleasantwood's Tree won't let me be who I want to be. I can't advocate for myself. I can't refuse or say no to someone who insists otherwise. I can't make it known how much I'm suffering or don't like something; the kinds of things I've had to do, the things I've been made to do. Cruel people exist in this world, and this town has given them a free pass. Even more so when they find out you're "willing" to do anything, and go along without a fight.

I've found ways around it: changing the subject, keeping my mouth shut when I can, walking in the opposite direction, keeping my circle small—any way to maintain some semblance of autonomy. And it does work sometimes! But only sometimes. I'm surprised I can even write this letter. I've tried to make my feelings known through paper or texts, but the words never match what I really want to write.

Anyway, that is all to say. Sure, it's great that our bodies miraculously heal overnight. But the novelty wears off quickly once you realize that immortality does not shield you from excruciating pain.

Attempts to escape have all gone nowhere. No way to destroy the Tree or leave town. Everyone who's tried to has died (in a terrible way). I am trying to hold onto the hope that we'll beat this someday, but it's hard. It's so hard. Something happened recently, something that's helped me hang on just a little bit longer.

I want to tell you what it is, but I'm trying not to get my hopes up. Because then it will hurt that much more. I've been disappointed before.

That's why I'm writing this letter. If I can't make it out of this, I hope at least my words do.

I've actually felt for a while that suicide is the kinder fate, but as you can see, that's no longer an option here. I saw this movie once where some lady escaped a torturer by killing herself—she was actually stupid. I would have killed myself so much sooner. Why prolong the inevitable if just to feel more pain?

Like I said, we are trying something new tomorrow. I want it to succeed so bad it hurts. Physically hurts. I'm petrified of the alternative. I'm not the only one losing hope either, but what other choice do we have? Please, please someone come find us. If you're reading this, look for us. We're still here. Please don't give up, don't forsake us. There are children. So many people are suffering.

Mom, Dad. I should have left with you when I had the chance. If I make it out of here, I promise I'll listen more. I promise I'll be a better daughter. I'm sorry for never calling. I'm sorry for all of the bad things that I've done. I love you so much.

I hope to see you soon. Please, don't forget about me. I love you.

Signed,

Gracie