Last tree standing in a forest

They were all gone; every last of them. Everyone I’d ever loved was annihilated by those ruthless assassins. For years we’d been warned of the rage of the killers; countless stories, passed on from parents to children. Tales about long-forgotten massacres. We all shivered in our terror when hearing them as kids, however no one actually expected it to happen.

They were myths, of course we were aware that they held some truth, as myths always do, but we didn’t let that knowledge become a real fear. We took the ongoing telling of the tales as a way to teach youths about the dangers that lurk out there, virtually unknown to us, yet somehow always present.

The ancient tales told of a massacre, but they also mentioned a hero; a young one from the village, trained to be the defender of our safety, the guardian for all. That hero supposedly fought back when the merciless killers came. He did everything in his hands, yet they were too powerful, more than no one had ever imagined. On the verge of death, his last words, according to the tale, were ‘Never forget what happened tonight. Always be prepared.’

That ending always struck the kids hearing the story. It was so tragic, still the hero sought to protect posterior generations, he wanted no more massacres, even if those future generations wouldn’t have him to grant protection (or at least try). He truly hoped that night would serve as a lesson; everyone should go through training similar to his, or else they wouldn’t stand a chance. He was strong, but alone he was useless.

That myth was recorded about 500 years ago. In the present time, the hero would be excruciatingly disappointed, and thoroughly heartbroken. It had happened again, and no one had been able to fight back; no one had listened to the hero’s advice.

We weren’t even outnumbered, as a matter of fact, there were many more of us than there were of them. We also came out victorious when comparing our sizes. We were huge, as tall as the sky itself, and our green stretched out indefinitely. We had power; we could create an infinite darkness underneath our leaves. Our trunks were as hard as steel, and raspy to the touch, preventing most from so much as scratching us.

They were tiny. Miniscule. Insignificant. We’d seen multiple specimens of their kind before, over the years. They seemed like harmless little pieces of meat. We often mocked them. How they talked, how they moved, how terrified they were of any living thing that differed from them.

But it wasn’t fair; it was definitely not a fair fight. They brought weapons. Tons of weapons, plus gigantic, noisy machines. The children were horrified at the sight of such metal beasts. However, they didn’t have to suffer for long, as soon enough, they were all killed. Every single one of them, brutally murdered. Everyone but me.

At first, I wasn’t sure why they’d spared me, I hadn’t made any deal with them, nor did I think they could want anything different from me. I speculated they might want to torture me, to get information about my kind. I wouldn’t say anything! I was sure about that. However, it was odd that they still hadn’t come back for me. Later I came to suspect that they had let me live due to my old age. I was the oldest among all. I had lost count, but my last celebration was of my 50 years.

Most of the residents of my village were quite younger than me, so I’d taken the role of the wise guide, and protector to some degree. But I had failed them. Just as that hero also failed 500 years ago.

I didn’t feel a thirst for revenge, I knew that would be foolish. Nevertheless, nothing in the world could take away the profound grief I felt. All my loved ones, gone with the wind; and I, alone, and destined to be that way for the rest of my time on the world.