The Talking Tree

Author’s Note: I wrote this story as I went along. I focused on how I described thing and my vocabulary. I wrote this because I wanted to write a fun fiction piece.

I found myself sprinting out of the house. My heart was racing, beating a million times a second. I couldn’t comprehend what I had just heard, but I guess my legs did. That was the worst news I have ever heard in my life.

“How could they!” I thought to myself (still running). It’s all because of that stupid subdivision coming. Now, some people might call me a hippie and whatever, but nature is my thing. I’ve been fascinated by all the beautiful sites and features the world has given us like Yosemite, Yellow Stone, the Rockies, Glacier national park. You’ve probably guesses what I hate then from what I’ve told you. Construction, any form of killing a living thing, and plastic. Plastic is the most un-earthy/natural/good/friendly thing. It is the only thing that makes my nightmares endure. Now from what you learned about what I hate you might have an understanding that is almost close to being comparable to half of how enraged I am that this new subdivision is being built. But a big chunk of my anger goes to them cutting down one specific tree, which is the reason I am currently running. The tree’s name is Bob. Bob is not an ordinary tree. First of all, he stretches about 40 feet taller than all of the other trees in the woods because he is so old, I would estimate about 600 years. So Bob is this massive old oak tree, but that’s not all. He talks. He talks in such a way that everything in the forest from the chipmunks to the ferns stop to listen. His wisdom is so great because of his great age, so every syllable that comes out of his mouth is pure gold. And yes in fact, he does have a mouth/face. You could also say that Bob is my one and only friend. Living in the middle of nowhere and being home schooled doesn’t really help my social life so here I am with a tree for a BFF. Don’t get me wrong Bob is a great friend and I wouldn’t have anybody else in the world be so close to me. Bob is also a great companion because we can relate to each other considering that I’ve spent most of my life in these woods that I’m still running through (I have a small fit thinking about how the bulldozers and cranes will crush my happiest memories along with thousands of innocent trees).

Once I arrive at Bobs dwelling, which currently includes many bright orange markers and official-looking people, I start releasing the wrath that I’ve had to keep in. I barely know what is spilling out of my mouth as I face the person that I guessed was in charge. He listens somewhat intently so I think I’m doing a pretty good job. That is until he says something into his Bluetooth and a buff police officer carries me and my thrashing limbs over to the entrance to the site that I made when I burst through the caution tape that was supposed to keep me away. The policeman tried to grasp my attention which was only on the construction equipment and business men. Because I wouldn’t listen he resorted to calling my parents with the phone number he literally had to force out of me.

In the car ride home my parents half sympathetically told me there was nothing I could do, and half scolded me for entering a construction site. The rest of the week was filled with sobbing for hours on end and reluctantly eating and learning the lessons my mom gave me. My heart became stone as I finally gave up. I thought that I would just have to live my life in solitude, because some other new that I found out is that the new houses will be mansions filled with very rich people that probably don’t have kids, and if they do then they’ll probably stuck-up and snotty. For just a second I had thoughts of suicide. I was surprised by myself for the first time in my life. Suicide. As I was contemplating my thoughts my mom comes in and tosses me a newspaper. There couldn’t of been a better front page: “Constructing at Lincoln Terminated Because of Tree” (Lincoln is the town I technically live in.)

It turns out that the guy I made a scene in front of was from the government and was seeing if it was alright to start chopping down Bob. First of all he saw how mad I was and how important the forest was to me. Also he calculated that Bob was too old and healthy of a tree to get cut down according to the state law.

The best part of this story is that I have written is 20 years while talking to Bob on one of his highest branches.