The Life of the Forest

(one)
The first time that James went into the forest by himself, he was only two years old. Though he was not an especially bright child, he had a way with mechanical things, and figured out how to open the gate of his crib by the time he was one. It wasn't until his second year, however, that he was able to handle the door knob, and thus slip out of the house. If his aunt had not been in the kitchen preparing supper, he probably would not have made it off the front porch. But, for one reason or another, his escape went undetected. At first, as he half walked, half crawled through the tall grass of the front yard, he was afraid - only once before had he been outside without his aunt. But as he neared the gigantic trees, with their limbs stroking the breeze like inverted yard rakes, his fear was forgotten, and replaced with a new sense. He felt strangely welcomed by the giants, as if they had been awaiting his coming.
 James had always been drawn to the woods. His aunt and uncle could not close the blinds in his room without him crying through the whole night, for it was through the window that he could see the great oak forest behind the house. When his aunt took him outside to play, instead of building castles in the sand box, James would sit under the maple sapling by the back porch, tracing his fingers through the cracks in the bark, and vocalizing his infantile thoughts to it. There were no neighbors for miles, and so he socialized with the plants. Television held no appeal for him - it was at the window seat that he spent mindless hours staring aimlessly.
 The reason for this strange attraction of his is quite simply explained, though few realized it at the time. Most people simply believed that he was slightly off, due to being abandoned by his parents at such a young age. For on the day James was born, his entrance into the world was not the most notable event.
 In the early weeks of fall, James' father had lost his job and was unable to find another. Money dried up quickly, and the hunting that had once been sport had become necessity. On the morning of James' birthday, his father went out in search of deer. As the day grew late, James' mother grew worried, and despite the fact that she was due to give birth within the week, ventured out into the forest. Driven by her hunger and fear for the baby, she could not wait any longer. She had eaten very little in the past two days.
 As she was walking towards her husband's tree stand, she saw a deer bound off through the undergrowth to the side of the trail. A mere moment later she heard a gun shot, a fall, and a wheezing grunt in a symphony of chaos. In eager anticipation, she quickened her pace and soon arrived at the stand. What she discovered, however, was not what she expected. James' father had fallen from the tree, breaking both his legs, and causing his shotgun to go off, leaving a bloodied mess where his stomach should have been. He was sitting up against the tree he had fallen from, breathing heavily, his legs twisted underneath him, a reservoir of blood forming on the ground at his side. The gun, with his finger gripping the trigger, was resting on his lap, loaded.