Dryads

 

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.

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

November 9, 2016 prompt: The End In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about an ending. 

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig

 

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