Young Writers Society

** I have continued my story from the leaf's perspective, please tell me what you think!** 

Spring:

After days of rain to wash away the stench of death and Winter’s deadly frost, us baby sprouts begin to bring life back to Father Tree. On this day we are filled with hope, destiny, and devastation. The generation before us was completely wiped out. Father Tree never speaks of those he once held so close, but as sproutlings, the winds carry over the terrible tale of genocide from our neighboring elders. We beg Father Tree to tell us more, but he won’t even shed light on the affair that brings about the cold winds and deadly temperatures.

Mother Sun sends her tears of regret, emptiness, and sorrow through clouds of rain, and Father Tree drinks away at her sweet nothings, sure fire promises, and accidental love, dreaming of a life where they would stay together forever. All of this loving, dreaming, and wistfulness impregnates father Tree with, sometimes, thousands of offspring. We gather nourishment from Mother Sun’s tears and prideful beams and father tree’s grounding love and care. Sometimes the mornings are still a tad chilly and remind us all of Mother Sun’s torment that kills off all our ancestors.

“Ouch… Ouch…”

I look up to find a bird trying her best to pull us by our stems to put into her nest, which cradles her singing offspring. They screech terribly, and through all the confusion, I feel faint. But, father Tree holds onto us tight. A sigh rattles through us all, as the bird gives up and tries finding weaker offspring. Do all the animals, stretching and frolicking in the birth of this new season, come from an empty ancestry? As the days turn into weeks and the weeks collect into months, Mother Sun strengthens her beams, burning us into a deeper hunter green. As the rays blast through the spaces we leave on the branch, it leaves sun spots on the shaded road beneath us.

Summer:

Father Tree sits near a desolate country road that cuts a field in two. Our branches are so full that there are no more sun spots to catch. Our shade covers the road and field we surround. I can see people driving off the road and park near Father Tree. They use our shade as a place to sit their baskets, blankets, and offspring. What makes this place so comfortable for them? Shouldn’t they be soaking up Mother Sun’s strong rays of sunshine? I watch them for hours until I am interrupted by a peer. Everyone says I am a daydreamer, a thinker, but why do those things have to be bad?

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to-

“No! No!”

A hush falls through us as the people’s offspring climb Father Tree’s branches and pick some of his twigs to use as weapons against each other. They are too heavy, and we can feel Father Tree starting to give. Luckily, the offspring swing down to the grass to pester the poor young bunnies and fresh flowers. With Mother Sun’s unrelenting rays and the clouds of tears pouring on us every so often, we have grown quite a bit and move with grace along with the wind. How could it already be time for the beginning of the end?

Fall:

Our time is getting shorter and shorter. I can feel Father Tree’s strength leaving him, but what can we do? Mother Sun doesn’t stay with us for long. She is too busy flirting with the beast. She loves his ice touch and chilly breeze. The people no longer gather under us, but from time to time I can see a hunched over person, wrinkly, graying… maybe an elder, rake away our family that has passed on already. See it’s not just the winter blast that summons us to our death, but the very lack of Mother Sun brings temperatures so low at night that the older of us just can’t hang on.

We try to stay away from the browning leaves like the plague, some turn red with anger, yellow with illness, and orange from anxiety, but in the end they all fade away, turn crisp and fall to their death. The older offspring of humans sometimes come, with their body covered with wool, and rake through our cemeteries just to jump in the piles of dead bodies.

My brother who has fought alongside me, called me childish for wanting to stay through the winter, and who constantly looks out for me has fallen ill. His shade of bright red could be contagious, so I try my hardest to keep my distance; but, at night when I hear his cries I try to hold him. Is that a tinge of orange touching me?

Winter:

Father Tree’s branches are bare. There is no one left of my thousands of siblings. Mother Sun has completely disengaged, and is only concerned with her affair. In the night I can hear Winter whisper to her, telling her to let us all go, that she can make more later. I refuse to let go of my Father Tree. He is so lonely and in some way feels guilty. Why is he unable to hold onto us as he did in the spring when we first sprouted? We have aged before his eyes, and sometimes I see him weep for all the souls circling around him.

The animals have all go to where Mother Sun is or to hibernate and hide from Winter. I wish I could hide away and become the first leaf to tell my children about the enraging storm that swallows everything in its path. They all told me that I was a child for holding on to my dream, but now none of them are here to force me in solitude and daydreaming. I just have to hold on tight.

My foundation is strong and will hold me tight. There is always a fear that when the wind blows I'll fall to my untimely death, and even though everyone said don't trust Father Tree, I don't think it's his fault that crisp winds start an everlasting land of ice. For our whole lives, he holds onto us tight, through wind, rain, and drought. I can feel his strength run through me. They say no one survives, that Father Tree lets us all go, but I am determined to be the one leaf that watches the snow fall.

A tear rolls down my cheek, or was it a snowflake, as I feel the wind carry my failing, stiff body to the ground. Who will I tell my story to before my time here on Earth is over, a passerby, maybe one of the human’s offspring? Father Tree has finally let go of my frail body, as I watch the first snow fall.