The Scarlet Oak. #1 DRAFT

A short story that was written intended for children but was enjoyed by many adults that read it too. It’s a first, rough draft that will extended on in the future.

I have stood where I stand, proudly for one hundred years. I have laughed, scowled and cried as I have watched the world go by. I have endured the coldest winters, and witness too much loss along with devastating change; but I grew anyway.

Once I stood small, deep in the twisted darkness of a forest that was home to legend; further out than anybody clever should dare to wonder. I was surrounded by family and friends, proud trees towering up so high, with roots that stretched out so far it seemed they would be there forever.

My first memory is of summer. The soundtrack to every day was the songbirds sweet song and the sunlight bounced around on the surface of a lake that was hidden from most, but happened to dwell not far from my roots. A soft breeze rolled through the leaves of the forest, thought it was not refreshing but more like warm breath.

The animals below occasionally made a loud snapping sound as the scurried across the fallen branches and dried out leaves, seeking shade under the largest trees by the edge of the lake. I recall a feeling of serenity hanging on the air and I still feel it every time the forest is drenched in sun.

With autumn came a cool crisp breeze that would dance Brough the changing colours of our leaves, causing some to let go of the branches that they clung to and glide down aimlessly to the forest floor below. A select few would get caught in a carefree gust of wind and dragged down into the clear, cold lake that lay still below.

I remember the quiet moonlit nights, when the sky settled into a comforting and familiar shade of dark navy blue and the sequin silver stars winked at me from above. Sometimes after nightfall the forest would be so silent that all that could be hard was the soft splashing of water against rocks at a river close by; and the sound of the trees swaying lazily in the calm wind seemed to echo in a soft whisper.

When winter came, so did my first experience with snow. It fell magically for the night sky like silent white rain and had covered the forest floor in a soft, sparkling white blanket by the time the sunrise was setting the sky ablaze. The hidden lake beneath me has turned into a large, misshapen slab of ice so the sound of animals scurrying around below had fallen quiet and seemed to stay this way throughout the crippling cold. Though much to my delight, the faint tune of the dedicated songbirds could still be heard floating in the air.

As the sun grew hotter and the snow began to melt away, the forest started to wake. The cold, stark trees were starting to grow back their green leaves and the wet dirt below transformed into luscious green grass. Amongst it, fragrant flowers in beautiful colours stood strong, soaking up the sun. Once again the forest was blissful and blooming; it felt alive. Spring has come.

As I grew older and taller it seemed that the days grew shorter. The seasons felt like they came and went in no time at all and before I knew it, the ancient trees that I had grown next to were nothing more than dead, hallowed out pieces of wood. Too much time had passed and their souls had moved on. Still being able to smell the sweetness and feel the serenity of my first summer, it was difficult to comprehend the fact that I was now one of the oldest trees in the forest.

With the passing of time came the passing of humans having fear of and putting stock into legends. Men and women began entering the once previously avoided forest that I stood in. Of course, the old legends were just tales and they never had anything to fear other than tripping over a thick branch or getting lost in the dark. So for years I had the pleasure of watching people live their lives and enjoy the beautiful forest that surrounded them; and it brought me happiness.

I witnessed smiling families swimming together in the once hidden lake beneath me, first kisses under the stars, picnics, proposals and giddy little girls chasing butterflies. I saw the panic on the faces of those who had wondered too far in the wrong direction and become lost after sunset and the loud, metal machines on the horizon, destroying and taking away innocent trees. Through love, laughter and true heartbreak, I have stood watching it all; and I remember every face that I have ever seen in my forest.

There was a young boy that seemed to love the forest as much as me. He would lie stomach flat on the grass by the lake beneath me and just stare at the wild flowers as if he was watching them grow; and while he did, I watched him grow.

With time feeling like it was passing so quickly it seemed as though he changed from the innocent little boy watching flowers grow to the troubled teenager that destroyed my home overnight, but obviously that isn’t the case.

I watched this child climb out of the grass and blossom into a focused young man that enjoyed doing his school work amongst the trees. I saw him grow taller and age in the face as he strolled happily around the lake, hand in hand with a beautiful girl. The two would spend hours together, wondering around the forest and climbing the trees.

Like the roots of the trees around me they seemed so strong that they would last forever. Though after witnessing the destruction of innocent trees on the horizon, I knew better than to believe that their happiness would last.

On the last day that the boy ever entered the forest, I could see the pain and anger on his face. He kicked up the fallen leaves with angst and snapped off any obstructing branches as he walked. I was confident that I knew what had happened, the girl he loved had been destroyed or taken away; but I didn’t know what he was going to do.

It was an extremely hot and wildly windy summer afternoon and the boys anger seemed to be so strong that it was overpowering the usual sense of summer serenity. He lay down in the grass, amongst the flowers and fallen leaves, staring up at the strangely shaped clouds in the pastel blue sky above. For a second be covered his face and met out a long but muffled scream that sounded vaguely like the word “why?” And then very quickly and without warning, as if he were being compelled to do so, the boy leaned over, reached into his backpack and pulled out a pile of colourful clothes and a small red box.

He muttered a few inaudible words, dumped the clothes together in a pile and then opened the red box and removed a very small stick. He swiped the stick against the side of the red box and a small flame appeared at the end. The boy craned his neck and looked up to the sky again for a second, looking as though he was asking a silent question to an invisible person and then brought his gaze back to the pile and dropped the flaming stick onto it.

For a couple of minutes, nothing seemed to be happening but the boy was still staring at the small pile. He eventually reached over into his backpack again, pulled out a small tin and emptied its liquid contents onto the pile. Almost immediately, a flare of red and orange light shot up and the pile of clothes was riddled with flames. The boy smiled a weak smile, whispered something else too quiet to hear and then left…

The small pile of clothes continued to burn steadily long after he had left, and was eventually knocked over by a strong gust of wind. The flames began reaching out to the dry leaves and sticks surrounding them. As the warm wind danced and twirled, so did the fire. It leapt around the forest floor haphazardly, setting everything lacking moisture ablaze until the forest was drowning in hot orange flames and chocking in thick smokey air that was impossible to escape.

All I could do was stand proud, as I have always stood and watch the forest die before me, while awaiting the inevitable touch of the hot, destructive flames that danced below.

Author's Note

Please keep in mind that this is only a first finished draft