Frank was sitting on a moss-covered log in the quiet, peaceful forest. It was his desire to sit some place with little to no distractions in order to think. Pleased at his choice, random as it was, he tried to focus his mind. But to no avail; it was a scrambled mess, a storm of confused energy racing in tendrils, each one chasing another's tail. After a brief attempt at control, he relented and instead simply opened his senses.
Having managed to completely forget himself, his mind magically cleared. He wanted to think about relationships, all manner of relationships, not just human; relationship itself, in other words. It had to do with society, he thought, with communities of people relating to one another. But then, no, he shook his head. That's not it. Something more personal, something to do with love and caring and friendship. Trust, respect, consideration, sacrifice. He sought to understand it, to feel the problem with his heart and soul. He had had such terrible luck with friendships. He offered it to others only
Now, resting on the moss-covered log in the middle of the quiet woods, he realized what he must do, realized with a certainty he seldom knew in his unstable emotional world. Screw people, he said out loud. Not with anger or meanness or sadness even, as though a great loss had befallen him. No, he just said it, dryly and without enthusiasm.
He raised the handgun to the side of his head, and while concentrating on the pure beauty of the distant cry of an owl hooting, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. But instead of an explosion in his brain and then darkness, he heard the faintest of yelps. He opened his eyes and stared dumbfounded at the gun. There, stuck between the hammer and the bullet was the thumb of a tiny winged creature, her mouth wide, blinking frantically, tears brimming. Momentarily paralyzed with shock and disbelief, he sat staring and listening to her shrill cries. Finally, he shook himself out of it and pulled the hammer back, releasing her. In haste, she flew off a bit to a safe distance.
As she shook her thumb, now quite large but quickly subsiding, she said, "That was close," barely a whisper. Then, gathering her composure, she continued forcefully, "Whatever were you thinking?" eyes wide, obviously incredulous.
Frank stared, equally disbelieving, searching for his voice. As he lowered and then dropped the gun to the forest floor, he entreated, "What are you?"
Just then an entire army of small creatures came flying out from all directions to surround Frank. He had no idea what to do or even if he should do anything. I must be dead and this is the afterlife, he thought.
"No, it is not," came a response from somewhere in the crowd. "Why were you trying to kill yourself, human? Are you mad?" came another voice.
He thought perhaps that he must be. Why else this gathering of flying small folk? He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer, then opened them again to refind the scene.
"You clearly are without wits, young man," spoke a deeper voice from the back. At that the assemblage parted and he could see an older version of the one who saved him. "My daughter saw fit to come between your wish and your deed at no small pain to herself, I might add," a little indignant. "I am Miranda," she went on, smoothing her shimmering dress, "Queen of these woods, at least this part. Obviously you are in need of help. Please, sir, arise and follow us."
At that, she spun about and began to flutter off towards the other side of the meadow. Frank, beside himself with fear and wonder, did as she commanded. She had that kind of voice. As the troupe flew and trudged towards the darker woods, he could hear other voices coming from the trees. He glanced about, uncertainly but profoundly curious. Squirrels and chipmunks and a few robins, he guessed they were robins, were busy looking him over with a mixture of surprise and disdain and chattering a mile a minute. But not the ordinary babble he was used to from such animals, but in voices he could understand, intelligent voices, gossipy voices, all dismayed and a touch angry. He had, after all, been about to defile their woods with his blood and tragic death.
He heard bits and pieces of talk, smatterings of derisive laughter mixed with expressions of heartfelt concern. He heard words like selfish and rude and pitiful and despair and idiot coming from the trees. The crow from earlier flew over and called out a nasty name which Frank remembered from his bar-hopping days. The crow was really disgusted. Frank heard, "... on such a beautiful day, too."
"This is where you will stay for now, young, man," declared the queen in a voice that brooked no disagreement. A chair appeared under the tree and beside it a table laden with fruit, loaves of bread and a red liquid in a wide-mouth cup. "You will remain here for the time being until I decide what to do with you," she said smoothly, putting a hand over her mouth to smother a smile.
With the practiced aplomb of royalty, the queen and Jenene flew off. Frank, a little dazed by current events, sat and stared around, still half-believing he was dead, but, nonetheless, willing to acccept the reality of the situation and to do as he was told. Nibbling on a piece of bluish fruit, happiness and a sense of sublime peace rising up from deep within -- nicely filling the nooks and crannies of his otherwise empty soul -- he guessed, he knew, and he was right.
I have come home, he whispered, lost in wonder and amazement.
After he ate bread and fruit and drank wine, absorbing the sensuous ambience of the magical setting, the transmutation took place. But,..., he never noticed it.
A week later, a lone mushroom picker, thirsty from hours of searching and having forgotten to bring along a canteen, heard the faint burbling of a stream or creek nearby. Passing through a clump of ferns into a small clearing, he came across a gruesome scene that shocked him to the core. The body of a young man lay sprawled next to a moss-covered log. In spite of the flies, splotches of dried brownish blood showed on his hair and face. A handgun lay beside him in a cluster of yellow wild flowers. Exposure and the creatures of the forest had ruined the maggot-ridden body, leaving it in a hideous state. Once the initial impact had worn its way to a mere numbness, he was able to probe more carefully the details before him. Curiously, he couldn't help but notice on what was visible of the man's face the slightest of incongruous smiles.
It was busier than he'd first surmised. Squirrels, all kinds of birds, the grating call of a large crow passing overhead; insects, fliers and walkers; and spiders, everywhere, busy building or repairing webs that glistened intermittently in the mottled sunlight. And just the slightest of breezes swayed the branches; the brushing caress moving his soul strangely, unexpectedly. 
to have it spat on and thrown back in his face. His feelings treated with open, blatant contempt; the other daring him as a bully would to stand up for himself. A game, he thought, a game for children. Finally, in the face of such perplexing refusal and disregard, he gave up and abandoned his attempts.
"I am Jenene, keeper of these woods." Tinkling laughter was heard from all about. She turned in midair and with hands on hips, shouted, "Well, I am." 
Frank entered the forest on the other side, pursuing, as quickly as he could, the entourage of flying creatures, going ever deeper to parts he'd never ventured before, deeper and deeper. The forest thickened, making passage most difficult for one his size, until he arrived at a pleasant waterfall with a lilly-pad covered pond below it. All but the queen and her daughter scattered while they led Frank along a path that pased behind the falls. He entered a large expanse of greenery with one huge tree of unkown variety at its center. It was quiet and seemingly alive with soothing smells and sensations.
