LET ME OUT! I screamed. Well, I wanted to scream. But what was the point,
anyway? Nobody was able to hear me. I didn't speak their language. All I could do
these days was stand erect and look down on those who surrounded me. They're the ones
who built these walls. They erected them, circled them around me, and made them so
high I could barely see the sun anymore. I didn't recognize the spot I grew on. The stone
tiles and structures plastered over the ground where the grass once grew, where the
animals once roamed, where my friends...once had rooted on and lived.
"Do you remember what it's like?" I often asked myself as I grew and stood alone
in my empty, barren cell. "Do you remember the sun? The blue sky? Stretching as far
as you can reach to the horizon, to the mountains in the distance and beyond?" I did
remember. But every passing day, these memories grew faint. The walls blocked out
everything. No longer could I experience those days. No longer could I see the sun
rising in the west, greeting us with a beam on its face. No longer could I see it bid
farewell in the east, where it set to rest to rise in the west again. No longer could I see the
mountains or the horizon or feel the wind blowing against my branches, leaves, and face -
the walls blocked out everything.
I've begged to them. Pleaded to them. Shouted at them to move, to free me from
my secluded state so I could see the world once more. But these walls didn't listen. They
never budged. They merely stood unwavering in my presence, unwilling to yield. I
missed the past. Too often I'd always imagine seeing the sunrise and sunset, the birds
that flew and the animals that roamed on the ground, and I'd wake up facing the same
dull, grey surfaces around me. No words. No life. They only stood.
The only thing with life now was the sky above the walls. The clouds were a
daily presence. Sometimes the sun would pass by and give its salutations at midday,
when it hadn't lingered behind the clouds. Not many birds passed by. At most, there was
one or two that passed overhead by day, but I haven't seen an entire flock in years. Not
even a pack of wolves or a family of deer would make their homes on the concrete floor
where I stood.
Often, the monsters who built these lifeless walls--and many others like them--
have stepped onto the cold stone floor below me. Usually, when they entered from one
side, they'd pass through and exit out the other. Sometimes they came to set them selves
on tinier metal structures built at my feet. They acted much like the ants; all they did was
roam around from one place to another, as if they were all set to perform the same task
for every second of the day. They had no other purpose but to serve themselves.
I have seen it all happen. The days used to be brighter, quieter...more peaceful.
My friends and I would stand higher than the rest of the world, feeling the sun's rays
shine over our faces and the wind brushing against us. We didn't mind the critters and
birds who caved in parts of our branches to make their homes. They were the best
company anyone could ever have. Everything was peaceful...until the monsters came.
I didn't know what they wanted with us. Neither did my friends. These
unfamiliar creatures came to live in our grounds, holding unfamiliar objects in their hands.
Soon, we all heard it. Terrence screamed and cried out in pain as the monsters grated and hacked away at his tough, sturdy ankles. They brought him to the ground. Terrence
landed with a mighty crash, startling myself, my friends, and the animals around us.
Birds flew away. Animals wildly fled from the area. Leaves rustled uneasily off our
branches and scattered all over the ground. And the monsters didn't stop there. We kept
listening to Terrence's screams of agony as the monsters swarmed him, tearing him apart
limb from limb. We couldn't look away.
Terrence was only the first of us. Then, one by one, they rest of us fell. I was
forced to watch as my friends succumbed to the same dreaded fate that Terrence once had.
I shouted at them to stop. Screamed at them. I couldn't stand watching any of my friends
die. But what could we do? We were powerless against them. They took over our lands,
replaced them with layers of cold, soulless stone, and moved on to corrupt the rest of the
lands beyond. But they left me alone. Why did they leave me alone? Why me? I
wondered. Why wasn't I cut down like the rest of my friends?
Perhaps now I understood. They wanted to torture me. They heard my pleas.
And now these vile creatures kept me alive, so that I could live with the scarring
memories of brutality, suffering, and death. They built these walls to encase me in a
prison; no longer could I see anything on the outside. I was alone. The memories I held
scarred me again and again as I woke up seeing the same metal walls every day onward
that passed--now I realized. They were giving me a slower, more painful death.
Winter passed. I shed my brown leaves over the empty stone floor and gazed
pleadingly at the cloudy gray sky, the frigid air choking each of my barren branches.
Now wouldn't be such a terrible time to die.