I was just chilling on my couch, drinking coffee, when suddenly the whole kitchen caught on fire. I leapt into action, running over to where the fire extinguisher was kept, but it was gone. Realization hit me; I had given it to my son as a secret weapon for his tree house. I sprinted over to the rope, climbed up with shaking hands, then burst through the doorway out of breath.
Behind a small table sat my son with two of his friends.
“What is your reason for this trip to the Republic of Tree?” He asked, tapping his clipboard. The green flags and banners of trees hung around him as he acted as if the tree house was a small country.
I lunged for the fire extinguisher inside its padlocked box. But his friends who were guarding it pushed me away.
“The army only opens it for approved citizens.” He said, sliding me the clipboard with my name, address, date of arrival, departure time, and reason for entry.
I grabbed my head and screamed, “There is a fire in the house son! I need the extinguisher!”
As I pointed to the smoke coming out from the window, my son pointed to the banner behind him.
“Act 4 of the Constitution of the Republic of Tree: The Republic of Tree does not concern itself with the crises of foreign nations,” he replied, sliding me another form.
“Since you wish to access this nation’s resources, you’ll need to fill this in too.” His friend added.
My knees went weak, as I pictured the fire spreading and started manically scribbling in the forms. I slid them back, but my son frowned.
“You forgot your signature here,” he said.
I signed it, red in the face.
Then he pulled out a big stamp, “Welcome to the Republic of Tree,” he said.
His friend unlocked the box with a key from his pocket.
Grabbing the extinguisher, I ran back to the house, blasting out the fire just as it reached the living room.
My hands were still shaking when my son came in and handed me a piece of paper.
“Here is your VISA for the Republic of Tree, it’s valid for thirty days, after that you will have to re-apply,” he said.