The trees remember.
They think about when their sisters covered the valley, standing tall and proud.
Glossy, green foliage waving in summer breezes. Bare trunks frosted in winter snow. Branches reaching out, grasping hands, dancing in moonlight.
Now the few who remain nod to each other across empty fields studded with stumps of their sisters.
Their shadows stretch along barren land, soil cracked and dry.
Tufts of brown-tinged grass pretend they are a lush carpet of healthy green, turning from the truth.
The trees know better.
They are wise and no longer hold on to hope for the earth.
November 9, 2016 prompt: The End – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about an ending.