The Song of the Trees

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. He could hear it now, from his safe little castle on the hill. They could not hurt him here, and he doubted they would try. He, unlike the others, has done nothing to provoke them. He was not the one who had torn their siblings up to their very roots, and turned the corpses into the houses they now hid in. The books they worshiped so dearly. No, he would not suffer the same fate as the ones who had wronged the forest and the world it inhabited. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. It was a truly beautiful song, composed by the plants, the animals, and the earth itself. The deep scratch of the trees' voices carried all throughout the forest, mixing with the gentle swish of their leaves. Some of the animals sing along, adding their voices in eerie harmony. It’s the gentle call of death, a last chance for some to right what they’ve done wrong. But no one can plant the paper they’ve created, or regrow their floorboards into the great oak it once was. The marvelous forests would never be full again. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. He did warn them, you know, those foolish villagers, but they were stubborn, refused to listen. “It’ll grow back eventually.” The words they were so fond of repeating over and over again. As if the earth could regrow at the rate they were taking. They were so stuck in their heads, blind to the growing truth and the diminishing supplies. The trees started to fade away, cornered by steel and machinery, smoke and sickness.

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. They were getting louder now, their cries shaking the ground even from such a distance. Despite their lack of numbers, they were certainly strong enough to wipe out anything or anyone they chose. They had bided their time, waiting to see if they could change their minds, change their  path, fix the future and save their grandchildren, but they did not. They ignored the signs, ignored his warnings. It was their fault, really. He wishes he could have changed things, but it’s hard to get people to listen when their heads are shoved so far up their own asses. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. Perhaps there was hope for some of them, the ones who had not torn apart the earth for their own selfish purposes. But they had been born into a world where destruction is as natural as breathing. They have been born into a world where it is impossible to live without leaving a mark. All because of the mistakes of their ancestors. He would have liked to save those innocents, the ones who could have made the changes necessary, but the ones who have done wrong wouldn’t let them go alone, they would have begged for refuge, claiming they did not know they had hurt the earth so deeply. They were too self-centered to let the future generations prosper, instead choosing to let the world burn alongside them. As if they deserved that honor. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. It would not take much longer for them to arrive at their destination. He fears, not for himself, but for the victims of their attack. He has never witnessed the brutality of the earth before, but he has heard stories, stories from a time before paper or leather bound books. These stories were shared through voice, through song, around the campfire, on a rainy day, during a hard night. They were passed down from person to person, and yet the details remained the same throughout every retelling. And every story describing the violence of the trees ends with blood, pain and vengeance. Not the best bedtime story, but the fear is necessary. It’s the reason he is sitting up in his castle, while the others, who have not heard the story, await their death below. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. He picks up the cup of tea, made from leaves he gathers himself with the blessing of the forest, and takes a long sip. Life, is about balance. He took the leaves from the forest, but in return he gave them new plants and his love and care. He took, and gave back in return. Give and take, to and from, these are the lessons he’s been taught since he was young. He only wishes he could teach them once again, to someone who would listen, someone who would care. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. They had reached the village now, and were beginning their task. Their voices mixed with the screams of the people, forming a twisted symphony that lasted for hours. He would wait it out, return to the town only when the last price had been paid and bury the dead. Despite their mistakes, they deserved a proper send off. He would then remake the world the way it should have grown. He would build a new generation, a grateful generation who would love and respect the earth for what it gave them. He would save the world, after the last bit of evil was eradicated. 

And from the distance, the trees began to sing. The song was almost over now, soon the trees would return to their rest, leaving the future of the world in his hands. The forest would heal, as all things do in time, without the meddling of the villagers. It would be better this way. He sat back in his chair, silence filling the air for the first time in what might be years. It was done, and the world was wiped clean of the evil that had plagued it for so many years. The trees were still, the village was quiet, and the sun was setting far off in the distance. It was a new world, a new day, a new chance at a new beginning. This time, he hopes it will be better. And if the need should ever arise, the trees would sing again.