Others have forgotten, but I’ll always remember the good times – the tire swing, the treehouse.
I rub my hand over initials carved in its bark. They mark the spot of our first kiss, and the wedding that followed years later.
It pains me to remember, but my axe shows indifference.
Pontius Paiva got 99 problems, but a birch ain’t one. You can root through his collection of short stories and other written works at pontiuspaiva.com
The oak stood tall in all seasons,
In summer, she rested in its shade.
In winter, the oak wished for her,
But never she came.
In spring, the oak was glad,
Until she turned up with another,
And as they sang happily under the oak,
It fell and squashed them.
Joey is obviously no poet. You can visit him at joeytoey.com
People pass; most don’t notice my existence.
I lived through two world wars, bearing witness to horrors. I harmed no one.
Yet they want me gone.
They come to end my life. I hear the saws, suffer the cuts in my trunk. Soon I will fall.
They call it progress.
Lynne North writes humorous fantasy novels for children. She decided it was time she tried something else…
They gathered around the stump, some eyes wet, some eyes hard.
“This tree,” said the eldest, “meant many different things to each of us. We all have reason to mourn it.”
There were some sniffles.
“Now,” said the eldest, “auction’s open! Who wants to bring this hunk o’ wood home?”
This story was based on the prompt “the stump” at TypeTrigger.
They ran through the forest, fishing poles slapping against their back. They ran as fast as possible, each trying desperately to edge past the other. They looked around and, seeing a suitable tree, began to climb. They sat at the very top; laughing and smiling.
But the bears could climb.
J.M. Valentino likes to take time between being an international man of mystery and bagging the hot green alien chick to write. More of his work can be found at www.irregularreading.blogspot.com.
“If a tree falls in the jungle,” said my captor, “no one can hear you scream.”
I slowly loosened my bonds. “I think you’re misquoting that.”
He snorted, hacking at the tree with his axe.
He was right. I fled as the tree crushed him, and I heard no screams.