(Cyro and I did a writing challenge. Reflections on a 100 year old self. Cyro may post theirs. I’m gonna post mine. Reminder this is a quick 15 minute prompt without any editing done. I’m more impressed by Child pulling off something in the fifteen minutes. Cyro’s come a long way.)
Writing Prompt: Reflection. The inner thoughts, feeling, etc of a 100 year old.
The Tree’s Friend
It has been a long time. Such a long time. You came here a hundred years age. You put my little seed in the ground. You were this little giggly thing listening to your adults when they explained how to care for me.
I saw you grow up. You played with me as children do. You would twirl around me and sing songs. You were offer me encouragement to grow.
I grew. I grew a lot. You leveled out in height long before I did.
You feasted on my fruit when I was still so young. You would climb my branches every summer for fun.
I loved it.
Then as I reach twenty years or so… You left. I barely hear hide nor hair of you. No one tells me about my lovely friend.
I watched as others pulled the fruit from my branches.
Other children who would twirl and laugh. Who would climb me during summer. Who would sing me songs they only learned just then.
Every summer, I would wait for you.
Every fall, my leaves would droop and drop having been forgotten by my favorite.
I would survive each winter hoping in spring the one to prune me would be you.
So many years passed me.
I knew you changed.
I knew you were gone.
Why did I keep thinking about your graceful laugh?
Why did I keep hoping this next spring you would return?
Why did I wish you said my fruit tasted the sweetest?
Why did I feel so lonely even while so many care for me?
One hundred years.
I was celebrated. My fruit has protected generations. My branches have supported so many. Yet all day as they celebrated my ability and life, I only looked for you. I only sought you.
It would be another year… without my precious ally, the one who planted me. The one who gave me the support I needed to grow.
“Ah.” The voice is old and gravelly. The person aged and worn down from the years. They come over and pat my bark smiling softly. “Time has aged us.”
I reach for them wanting to offer something since they came to my celebration.
“Thank you for everything, Tree. It is my hope you live a long life. I may not be able to eat your apples or sing you songs anymore. I couldn’t climb the branches now. But you gave me safety and protection. You gave me everything I needed before I was able to leave. I’m sorry I could not return. I did not wish to remember this part of my life.”
Then they leave offering me a final smile.
That was my final year I gave fruit.
The final year I survived.
A storm blew through that night- the night of my celebration- and took me out.
Without the will to live knowing they’ll never return, I let the storm release me.
I helped enough.
It was time I let go.
Maybe next time I will be born in a way I can help my friend. In a form I can live at their side. In a form I can say ‘I love you’.
I can’t like this.
Death will help.