"Oh My God, is that Trina? She is a total wreck." a whisper far beyond.
"I heard that she haunts little kids in their nightmares and kills all the birds that come to her branches," another voice distant.
"Ugh, she disgusts me. Let's just stay clear of her, we don't want any trouble from someone like that." Great, you saved yourselves some time from a useless pice of dirt.
The sunlight glimmers over my branches, as another worthless day is to go by. The cool drops of night kiss the few remaining leaves still stuck on my branches. I guess that even a tree as I myself would still have some sign of respect even at a situation like this. Oh no, Farmer Ace is coming. I just hate it when he comes over to water us. I'll become healthier, and eventually live a long life. Such a wicked deal.
Life. A bitter, irritating word. What does life have to offer? I've learned this lesson before, and I don't need anything else to confirm it. Being a tree sucks, alright. Just look at what I have to experience every damn day. I've got to house the birds, provide the daily needs for humans, act as a sponge for floods, the list goes on forever! And we, what do we trees get back in return?! Pollution, trash, landslides! Some trees are too weak to open up their eyes and say hello to reality, but I am not.
I don't care about the world anymore. Whatever's fed to me, I spit it out and return it. Don't you dare feed me dirt and expect me to produce glitter.
Aside from the word, there's something else that I hate. To be honest with you, I am so annoyed at this plant who's right next to me. We're not siblings, okay. We're not. He annoys me every single day with his jingles and random hums. Whatever creature planted that gremlin, I don't know. If I hate the world, that ruthless Pete is the opposite of me. He loves everything, from the microscopic ants walking on the ground, to the chit chattering voices of the farmers in the night. Hope that kid gets knocked out by the wind one day.
"Ooh, hello Trina! Isn't it a wonderful time for daydreaming!" Pete greets while stretching from a nap.
"Yeah, yeah whatever kid. You're gonna learn bout the world one day. I ain't giving a thought for you right now." I reply, rolling my eyes.
"Trina, don't be so pessimistic! You know the world's an amazing place, mom and dad always told ud that --"
"Shut up, Pete! I don't care what your mommy and daddy tell you! I hate the world, and I have never loved it, clear?"
"Trina --" he is cut off by a purring voice, squeaky and sassy.
"Well, well if it isn't the miserable Trina and her brother Pete," Ugh. It's Ynna and her gang of cats, here to start teasing me again.
"I don't have no brother." I grunt, trying to keep my distance from Pete.
"Yeah, yeah deny all you want, Trina. But I'm here to tell you this. Farmer Ace is going to chop you off tomorrow. I heard him speak with his wife just last night. And I agree with him!" says Ynna. "To be honest with you, I don't think you even deserve to be planted in that spot. Some other beautiful tree, a cherry blossom or a Wisteria, could take your place and no one would care or notice. Look around you -- everything's bursting with life and color and delight." she snorts out loud, but isn't finished. "I hate to break it to you, but, look at the mirror! You, stay in a majestic place like this? You, all coated in dull color of gray, branches all astray, and leaves so few and withered? You're even denying that you've got a family! You really don't deserve this, Trina. Guess death will be an easier character in the play for you," she says, and turns her back, leaving me at a loss for words. Her tail moves slowly behind her, as she giggles along with the other cats.
"Trina, don't listen to Ynna. We love you and --"
"Zip that mouth of yours Pete, I don't care." I say with a quiver, as I pull back the falling tears from my eyes. Don't cry, Trina. Crying is for the weak, the desperate, the hopeless. I close my eyes, and greet my only friend. At least the darkness was there for me when the world shut me out. When I wake up, this is just going to be another nightmare and I'll forget about it when I'm chopped off. I hope.
Now. . . tell me. . . is it my fault for feeling like this? For wanting to die, for wanting to disappear from this hell? I am already Cinderella's broken slipper, and no fairy godmother has the fix me. Leave me be, and you might be a big help.
All photos were taken from Pinterest and Wonderings of a Writer.