This is what will I do, I will sample my most important memories and associate a symbol with them. The symbols will be connected. With each symbol, the actual memory episode can be reached and reconstructed. Registering each moment of life would be unnecessary, but with identifying the key episodes and moments of time and their points in space (that is perceived relatively), the actual life could be copied into another human consciousness.

Quite weird things are these...

Glades and Creeks.

One day in a journey far far away,  the forest was speaking to a lone wanderer.
"I am quite the clean forest, am I not?." The forest whispered soothingly.
"Mmhm." Spoke the wanderer, passive by such an interjection.
"Of course. Thousands of forests have wilted and died under the hand of man. I remain lush and brimming to the birch with life."
"Where is my way out of here?" The wanderer asked, becoming quite needy at the thought of having to spend the night in that dung-infested greenhouse.

The forests name was Evergreen. Allot of forests were named Evergreen. This forest had just been sold cheaply to a large logging firm who would come and tear the ugly trees down. The proprietors of that sale was a tribe of Indians. The specific agent who devised and contracted the sale was named Nahiko. An Indian tribesmen who, like his ancestors could speak to the forest.

Indians were what Europeans called people from India and natives of America. Allot of Indians in America were killed for being Indian. When an Indian boy came of age, they would be thrown into a jungle and starve until they saw an animal spirit. This was probably prelude to eating said spirit animal while thanking it for helping him live on.

"I, Evergreen implore you to stay within my womb of plant and fauna."
"Hm." replied the wanderer. Not wanting to argue.
The wanderer took a seat beside a flowing creek on a rock. The creek lead up to waterfall, which in turn lead through a river that spanned for miles. The river did not speak as it was an extension of the forest, Evergreen. Down the creek was the old homes of the Indian tribe.
"Have you ever saved someone else?" The wanderer asked.
"My yes, of course. Everyone who is to enter without water or food is rescued by my charming animals! And luxurious streams. I am quite hospitable you see. There was a tribe who lived within me, they were by name called the Perchil tribe. But they had to leave for more. Hmph. As if anything up in that ****** town is worth more then me."

Further up the river, away from the forest was a town named "Milan". It was named after a kingdom of the same name in Italy. People in Milan spoke German. This was odd given Milan lay in south America, but not unusual given its history of being a port to German slave traders who came from a German colony called "Tanganyika" in Africa. The town was named Milan because the Germans wanted to appear more Italian. This desire was apparent in their most famous dishes "schnitzel Pizza" and "Pasta Salsiccia". Pasta Salsiccia was pasta in a sausage casing often served with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes.

Perchil was also a member of that Indian tribe. He was Nahiko's brother and had a family of his own. Perchil was born in Evergreen and educated in Milan. He had been fighting with Nahiko over the terms of sale of the forest. Nahiko had wanted to preserve the land of old tribe. Perchil was already drawing up plans to sell it to an oil foundry. Their land happened to be on top of a great oil reserve. That means allot of animals lived and died on that land millions or thousands of years ago. There body would dissolve into a black gooey liquid used to fuel heavy machinery. This machinery is used by logging firms to cut down not exclusively, forests named Evergreen.

The wanderer, feeling awkward asked. "So, you'd rather not want to be destroyed?"
"Oh, I am a forest and I do maintain a will of my own and wants. But I cannot rather things should be anything other than what they are. The world is a destructive place. It is disrespectful of its former home and ancestry. I know this. I have tried however, to ward off the workmen by scaring them with my animals. In the end I shall become a town or a shopping mall."
In 3 years time, the deed to "Evergreen plains, Milan" would be sold and used to build a shopping mall named aptly "Evergreen Mall". And the forests voice would be spoke out of loudspeakers, but in the form of either a pre-recorded message or announcement about a lost child. Nahiko and Perchil would be married in Evergreen Mall. Nahiko three times.

"Oh woe is me, I lament my lost brothers and sister forests who are no longer beaming and prideful of their enormous trees and crested riverbanks."
"Maybe they should have defended themselves better." The wanderer spoke, trying unsuccessfully to show concern.
"Well, I for one will never give up fighting the man!"
"Good for you." The wanderer then ate his lunch.

Three days from now, the forest would stop speaking to anyone who arrived within its borders and see the lone wanderer again. But this time, he would be protected by four glass windows inside a piece of machinery powered by black gooey liquid called a "harvester" which lifted up wood and cut it into easily transportable pieces.

"Do you, believe in god wanderer?" The forest asked, to strike up some conversation.
"I do believe in god. He's the reason I get up in the morning and assists me in supporting my family."
"I don't. I don't think I believe in god, wanderer. If he exists, how could he let something so beautiful as I and my brother and sister forests be turned into shopping malls and townships like Milan."
The evergreen forest had seen the name "Milan" as a city nearby on a poster which flew into the twig of its tree. The poster was now lying on smooth ground weighted down by a root, as so the forest can read it over and over again. The poster advertised Pasta Salsiccia at a local restaurant in Milan. It had appetizing pictures of Pizza with crumbed steak on it and Pasta filled Sausages.
"God once flooded the earth, destroying all forests and people for their misgivings. Maybe you misgave and people are your divine punishment."
The forest grew silent and whispered soft hymns of wind against the leaves and overgrown shrubbery.

The edge of the creek, where the wanderer sat on a rock had a hard sand that stretched out a few meters disappeared into the dirt. It was unusual to see a small bed of sand without any other visible placements of sand. The wanderer had been dumping it there, with permission from the forest so he could form a base to store his harvester. The forest did not know of the sands purpose, she thought it looked pretty.
"If I were god, the world would be nothing but forests!" Evergreen stated. The gentle words turning a harsher coarse crackling of branches.
"The world seems to be nothing but people right now. Maybe gods a man."
"Unlikely! If god was a man, he would certainly love forests enough to never cut them down."
"Hm." The wanderer was dissatisfied with this explanation, but didn't want to argue.

"Would you **** anyone who came into your forest, just to prove a point?" The wanderer asked, waiting pensively.
"Oh no, as I said. I cannot change what already is and certainly would not bloom the effort to try. Besides. I also know about those people and their weapons. When it comes to human beings, no matter how hard I fight they will always win. How they ever came to develop boom guns and ratatatat chainsaws I have no idea. If they came from my forest, people would certainly have never developed tools so cruel and menacing. But, I suppose Eden had her way for you. Even if it was, at the cost of all our kind."
"Yeah. No matter forest or person, people always win. I'll always be below some rich powerful man too." The wanderer felt melancholy for feeling unimportant. The forest felt the same melancholy for her life and the world.

Suddenly and finally, a noise came from the wanderers pants. He then picked out his phone, clicked it and took it to his ear. After two hours, the wanderer walked east and out of Evergreen forest. He visited her three days later in his noisy harvester. made to cut wood. He parked on his sand bed. The wanderer left his harvester and locked the door without a word. Evergreen forest was properly harvested of its trees in 3 years time. Never uttering a word or complaint. The painted marking on the harvester she saw everyday however, was her last thought as she disappeared. The word painted onto the door of the harvester, its operator. "Perchil."

It's emergence so brief and shattering,
you'd have to question it's existence.
****** from the swamp by the sky,
it is devoid of morality; it is the terror
that does not forgive what it hasn't
given permission to.

Abrupt hum of an Indian motorcycle,
streaking across the starving freeway,
leaving ribbons of red, in the long,
uncomfortably volcanic-black night.

The body on the machine is wrapped
in cheap, crimson leather, and topped
by a navy helmet, stamped by a
visor reflecting rushed stars.

Migraine-inducing headlights hit
it's prop-store-green body, as it
drips and steps towards a vintage
orange van. Through the videotape
windshield, it can see two still figures;
two figures with aviators and bandannas.

Road signs swing by; the air zipping
in and out of the helmet. The body,
effortlessly, weaves through and
past the few vehicles lost in the dark.

Decelerating, the Indian penetrates
an exit stained: 567-TX-155.

Inside the carpet lined cave,
the figures stare at the monster,
indifferent to it's existence -- well,
not entirely one reminds the other.
It's arms dance in front of it's eyes,
blinded by the freshly clicked
high-beams; unaware that they
are, slowly, stepping closer.

Approaching a skeletal forearm,
emulating a tree, the Indian gradually
becomes silent. The body walks it
behind the rooted elbow, laying it
on a web of wooded earth; pulling
up a sleeve, removing and resting
a watch on the hot, metallic carcass.

It removes it's scattering fingers,
green and twitching, from it's
shrub framed eyes. Looking
forward, two bottles of blackness
grow near. It is a miracle only
surpassed by the instability of
life, that I look upon you, one
bellows. Consider this not
personal, but a preemptive
admonishment. Simply: I
cannot allow you to live,
for I have heard what I
cannot understand. Please
know that I admire,
thus I destroy.

The leather-clad foot-claps
eat and spit the sleeping gravel.
Pace becomes quicker; frenzied,
even. Like a comet, exact in its
imprecision, the navy helmet
falls to the ground, capturing
a night-sky goodbye; casting
the moon, briefly, into her eye.
So brief you'd have to
question its existence.

It's body, pulpy and beet red,
lodges itself between their
pale, freckled fingers. They
consume, pause, then continue
to gnash on the foreign meat.

Yellow, like an ancient bone,
the moon curves and bends
with ever chomp. It can feel
it all. The insides, pulled and
wrapped around wrists; soon
yanking; soon gritty removal.
The light begins to blend
with the surrounding dark.
Last breath, ruined by the
brief choking it's flesh caused.
So brief you'd have to
question it's existence.  

Sweat rips down from her
hair, onto her eyelids. A
dead sprint is broken into,
before she throws herself
into woods, avoiding the
approaching beams of a
vehicle. Forty-three
seconds imitate the
vehicle and go by. She
lifts her eyes to the brim
of a bush; pupils sliding
side-to-side.

Van tires make the transition
from gravel to asphalt, as the
two figures are now, indifferently,
drenched in a red-bronze, becoming
crust around their lips. The driver
says, My father told me about him --
that. He said, if given life, it would
learn to take it. You cannot change
the nature of a monster. If we
remove it, we remove death.
We control the consent.

Her heels transform her sprint
into a statue's posture. The rocks
hurt her knees, as her hands soon
follow, crashing to the ground.
Scattering fingers reach towards
her, soon met by her petite grasp.
The same fingers grow still.

She reaches towards her side,
cradling the nickle handle of
The Last Killer
looking behind her, anger and
a plan, running down her face.