The Challenge: Write in 250 words, from the perspective of the last tree in the forest. Be creative.
Alone. That's what I am. Abandoned. Forsaken. Alone. I've been in this spot for hundreds of years, but for the first time in my life, I am alone.
I had a family once. Thousands of them. There were trees for miles. Trees that bore fruit. Fruit that cured the disease known as cancer. We were bred for the task. People from every land would come to collect them.
We saved millions of lives. Yet, we couldn't save ourselves. Slowly but surely, the entire forest started to die out. A tree like me can only last one-hundred and twenty years. Luckily, I was the last tree to be planted. Unfortunately, that was 120 years ago.
The tree opposite of me has just withered away. My friend. My best friend. He didn't have a name. But a tree doesn't need one.
I remember when he died. As clear as it was yesterday. Which it was. I remember hearing him moan, and seeing him slump over. Then finally, he gave way and fell into the dirt. The little amount of water that I had stored in my leaves, poured out like a waterfall. I almost had hope that the water would bring him back. It was hope for the hopeless.
Now I am moaning, and I am starting to sag. I feel like I have so much more to offer the world, but it's my time.
My time for me to let go, and lay with my friend.
He is my grave. I won't be alone much longer.