Years have washed over the world as glaciers melted into history. The forest of our earth have withered and fallen as the sky cried forth tears of hatred filled poison as man answered to the call of manifest destiny and became desperate leaving all but one tree standing.

The Last Tree.


The streets murmured, sand blew from the desert soon to be forgotten, as people moved in mass towards the same place. Every one talked about it, people came from the world around just to see and even the settlers on the moon have come back for one last sight before it might fall into the books of what has passed. The last tree in the world stood taller then all the others, its five thousand year old bark staid strong and sure as its leaves came and went.

The last tree was an amazing sight towering almost as high as a sky scrapper showing what once was, what lived, died and moved on. Children especially loved the tree, they were the only ones allowed to touch it. It was feared that the hands of one diluted with the flaws of man would dwindle the trees life more. Nothing could deter the children they flocked like the insects that might have called the crevasses of the tree’s bark home. It was almost magical when the children finally saw it, their eyes would winded their mouths would turn agape as if trying to see if in some angel the tree would fit inside their cradle of teeth. The Eldest had different reactions to the tree. They would come and stare not daring to even ask to go as near as the children, knowing the human trait of respect that was quickly becoming as rare as the tree. The Eldest had mixed reactions to the tree, some would cry, some curse in how many languages’ they knew, just trying to find some way of yelling,

“Why?”

The last tree did not only have eyes that were filled with amazement or tears the tree also had eyes filled with greed, greed held by so many dear to so few. The greed was harvested by the well known fact that new pure paper was desired as a luxury. Writers longed to let the first drop of their ink run through its rigid exterior like rain through a tree’s bark.
Greed has been such a powerful thing, taught as bad in so many religions proved wrong. Greed was the culprit that drove the forest back finally drowning the lost cities of the world in a dense environment of ignorance and hatred. Animals constantly cried out, though humans were soon taught to listen to their cries like ones use to listen to their songs that was so desired by the ear as green was so desired by the eyes.

O the color green, what a missed sight. It still shins on in fake grass and shrubs, but it falling lazy from the sky is one only few can call a memory. Very few remember anything, for something so horrific happened causing every one to forget what happened, and what happened before it. It is merely called, The Last Word. After The Last Word the lost cities of Aztecs, Mayans, and Atlantis were found, but all humans saw was stone, more building material, and more land to build.

Do not scamper to cry for some did remember, after many long argues years The Eldest might remember a tear, a tear for a death of a friend, or maybe very rarely the death of an animal or tree. People know well the sight of blood in humans and trees. It has become a sport to watch the last trees fall, but The Last tree of them all has had a special effect. The people have cried that they want it to stay.

I know your thought or relief that might wash, but bewared it shale happen not. For though children and Eldest alike like the tree like their very life those blinded by greed and hatred only see the addicting sight of sap and blood pouring forth. One main culprit is that the Gods once ordered sacrifices, only to be held on tree stumps, one of many that have made this spectacle of a tree so rare and loved.

The murmur of the streets have stopped to be replaced with the soft tap of workmen shoes, those who want the tree, nigh need the tree have come. They claim,

“This is God’s good earth, we are aloud to do want we want!”

O how sad it is. The children now join the Eldest in their cries, almost attempting to raise rivers so that they may soak the grown and find an ever so rare seed of The Last Tree and secretly plant it for more generations to see. This shale not happen though even as Eldest and Children scuttle around their noses almost to the ground, looking sniffing, some trying to maybe even hear for that last seed.
The government is not dumb, they know what The Last Tree might bring, rebellion and freedom, none of that please. They have promptly disposed of every last seed being sure that they be utterly destroyed. People in the past have always talked of The Holocaust, now one must some how be remembered for the Trees. Not only the trees but from pandas to wolfs, cats and bears, insects of the sky and ground have all left the sound that the forest use to sing, a song that is now a horrid thing.

The steps of the workers grow louder still the children and Eldest still looking in vain, hoping wishing so. Then one says a brilliant thing, why not join hands and hug this last tree that ever will be. They all cried and sing as they hugged that beautiful thing, ones who couldn’t touch it yet danced around it calmly awaiting their turn. When the workers came they were infuriated to see such things, how could they? don’t they know that the paper must be have. But the people said no.

The workers continued forward, chain saws raised ready to end this dreadful sight of people crying dancing all for a tree, why a tree, didn’t they had all the oxygen they need? So the workers went through the dancing crowed, they didn’t even warn they just started the cut and went through their bone, they had no chance. Blood now no tears ran on the ground and the cheer of song now replaced with screams. But still yet the children and Eldest’s held dear hugging that tree ever so dear. The men cried as the tree cried forth as its trunk gave way and it fell forth the cracking sound that was heard around the world, almost as if it was that magic bullet still rarely sung about. The workers gasped, and turned away seeing now that the blood of the young had blended with the blood of the old bleaching the tree’s wood, ruining it forever. So the workers turned and marched on home as one child stumbled forward crying still and stood on the tree trunk and looked ahead, his eyes a beautiful green as he remembered about The Last Tree.