What will you do?

I stare at a blank page, but it seems as if it is staring at me. Glaring. Waiting to be written on. A tree was sacrificed for this. I feel as if the animals who once took shelter in this tree are staring at me. As if I took away their home. The one place they felt safe in this world, now pushed underneath my pencil. Forming strange symbols they don’t understand. Symbols that won’t bring back there home. Now where will they go? Where will they sleep tonight? What will they do? Or the better question is what will you do? Try to think of yourself as them the next time you write two words on a paper,  then throw it away.







  Phoenixbird12 or Stephanie S.