by Betty Gordon
Whispers drifted through the trees shaping leaves into soft waves. Quiet murmurs, weeping pleas, permeated the darkness as fragile light danced along the edge of the forest. I strained to listen as their voices clutched my breath. Then, I saw the cut, mutilated limbs strewn on the ground—blankets of annihilation. Tears streamed unashamedly down my cheeks.
Memories rushed through my body, memories of my brother and I sneaking out of our house during early morning hours to escape into this forest. We’d run, as only children can, through damp grasslands allowing fragrances of clover and uncontaminated scents of nature to permeate our senses. We’d play with wood nymphs and tree fairies, our friends, our protectors, until daylight. Then, we’d scamper home hoping we weren’t missed.
Now, although I’m considered to be grown-up by some, once again I crept out of my parent’s home to blanket myself in fertility that only these woods can offer. I drifted into the sprinkling of gold dust filtering through the trees spared from desecration. Sunlit haloes of light promising healing and restoration surrounded me.
A rustling sound tore through my musings. I focused through shadows now brimming with light. Then, I saw it, a gigantic mechanical monster advancing through the forest headed straight for me and my protectors. My heart overflowed with sadness. It was too late for my friends, but perhaps their lost beauty would live on to benefit the world. At the moment, it was too much to understand.