Prompt : Write a story using the first line from your favorite story. This first line must also be the first line in your piece of writing (Be sure to include which story your quote is from so we can have a look!)
✧*WINNER OF THE CONTEST. THIS STORY IS A PART OF THEIR ANTHOLOGY NOW ✧*。
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Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?
Living for fifty years under this expansive sky and I often recall what my grandfather once told me. "You're not just a tree," he had beamed at me, just before he was cut down ten years ago.
"They are coming again," my twin mutters, shivering in the moist wind, but mostly out of fear.
"You'll live this year too," our elder brother assures him.
With age you gain wisdom, our father once told us. And our elder brother has the wisdom of five years more than we have. Now we agree to his claims since father was cut down.
"The road side trees have sighted protests against deforestation and we are the Amazon," the elder brother boasts, swaying his shiniest leaves. "We'll be fine!"
"But they felled our f-father last year," the twin adds, still quivering.
"Look! The toucan has come to rest on your strongest branch!" The elder brother diverts his attention.
"Hello!" The white-throated toucan settles on my twin. He scratches his long beak against his trunk, making my twin giggle.
A home. Yes, that's what I am. A habitat for these delicate birds who are hunted for their beauty. They sleep and rest on our branches, bring straw and feathers and make nests. In those carefully woven nests, they lay eggs and sometimes we are the ones to hear the first cries of the newborn.
"I love the spring!" The toucan sings. "Look at those flowers that match me in their appeal!"
A shade. The colorful flowers growing on the soil around me under my shade are alive because of me. I filter the bright sunny rays with my leaves to a proper amount for them to blossom and they spread their sensational fragrance around the whole forest.
"I saw your father being chipped into a paper," the toucan tells nonchalantly and earns a whimper from my twin.
A paper for a book. Our thick trunks cut into logs then shredded to thin chips and turned to blank sheets. The blood of our fellow trees inked on those sheets in a pattern I never understood. It is the human language they write on us, piercing us with the tips of their pens like the saw wasn't enough.
"That's better than toilet paper. Your grandfather had a terrible fate!" The toucan laughs and shits on the soil below.
A toilet paper. Thinner than a sheet of paper for a book and an instrument to wipe the asses of our tormentors, or to blow their booger filled nose into or to clean any unwanted material. Will that be my end?
Humans don't gain wisdom as they age, they lose it. We provide them with oxygen necessary for their breathing and we remove the toxins from the air so they don't die soon. Yet, it is human who is after our lives.
But really, who am I? And how, I wonder, will my story end?
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word count : 496
dated : March 22, 2021
The story I've taken the quote from is "The Notebook" by Nicholas Sparks.
ВИ ЧИТАЄТЕ
Contest Entries
Короткі історії◄ This book solely contains the contest entries I take part in. ► C O N T E N T S 1- What We Want @YA Contests & Prompts 2- A Tree Story (winner of March prompt 2021 for @justwriteit. Featured in their Anthology)
