The Last Tree (2016)

Introduction

The Last Tree is a short dystopian story I wrote in 2016. The inspiration to write it — and this is quite the romantic backstory — was the desire to pass Year 9 English. I also wanted to prove to my obnoxious, feminist teacher that I could both sit at the back of the class, not listening to her, and get a good grade. A risky approach, since she was the one marking it.

I’m sharing The Last Tree as an example of writing that is good-ish, but not self-aware. By never winking at the reader, it fails to acknowledge the marriage of absurdity and magic that permeates the universe and gives birth to the best stories. It tries too hard, and takes itself too seriously.

And, my goodness, how cliché. The tree-hugger motifs are enough to vomit. Anyway, here it is, in all its melodramatic, earnest, 14-year-old glory.

The Story

Through the dusty mist which covered the landscape like a quilt of sandpaper, Zach surveyed the ruin. A scene of desolation lay before him; a land which reeked of destruction. The sound of metal on metal was enough to nauseate, but it was mere icing on a poisonous cake. People were at work.

The gentle creaking of his aged legs and the purr of his feet on rubble came as a diversion to Zach. 

A man, busily reassembling the parts of a large electric vehicle paused his efforts, as Zach passed.

“Hey, oldy,” he yelled, “What’re ye doin’ about the state o’ the world by just walking through? Get to work! Build!”

“Build what?” asked Zach.

“Our lives.”

“Our what?”
“Ain’t you ‘eard? The International Intelligence Department ‘truduced a new law: all are to assist in the building of more technology on planet earth…”
‘More like, “The International Intelligence Deficit”.’ thought Zach. 

His companion had more to say, but Zach had changed channel, choosing to dwell on his own sombre meditations. For ten minutes, he committed his mind to finding an ounce of logic and sense in the world, but in vain. To build more technology to fix the problems which technology had created was foolish. That was that. 

Zach stopped. His walk had brought him to the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking a valley. Scanning the grey landscape from this elevated position as he had never done before, he was struck with a new but powerful emotion. A sense of loss. The depression of something missing. Previously, Zach had observed the destruction from a mournful but distant eye. Now it affected him deeply. He felt as if he were a part of the earth, and its injury hurt. 

In a flash, as it were the sudden strike of lighting, the years peeled away. Zach saw himself as he had been, a child, freely wandering the earth, through forests, through woods and meadows. The colour, joy and happiness was such as to bring a tear to his wrinkled eyes. 

Vivid now, were the memories he was seeing unfold through his mind. He watched as he picked a bright red apple from a green and brown tree. He felt the soft, round surface in his hand, as it moved towards his face. Smelling the natural incense, he opened his mouth. A gentle crunch as his teeth sunk in, and magically sweet juice flowed, unhindered, throughout his inner being. 

It was a vision Zach could have watched for eternity, but a vision now marred by a second tear, accompanied with a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The tear rolled down his cheek and fell through the void to strike the earth, where it was enveloped in a sea of dust and debris, and lost.

Gone were the forests and meadows which clothed the earth in colour. Gone were the experiences which made very existence a joy. All that was left, was nothing.

Zach started, his eyes on the horizon. A solitary tree, defiantly standing amongst its dead brothers, was a sight of hope, like the dawning of a new day.
“The last tree,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

From his short-sighted eyes Zach beheld the tree; its outstretched branches seemed to be calling desperately for his help. Its dry leaves yearned for water, but it stood in parched, unforgiving ground.

‘I must save it,’ thought Zach, ‘even if I have to water it with tears. I must.’ 

Shuddering, he picked his lonely way through the myriad of workers, and came ever closer to the tree. Others were near it now, clearing what looked like a road. The clinking of metal tools and the rumble of moving rubble were the all-too-familiar, sickening sounds. He watched as they reached the tree and stopped work abruptly. The tree was a blot; a living obstacle in their onward path. A feeble outcry against technological progress.

The brief moment passed, and worked continued; a cry escaped Zach’s lips.

Forgetting his age, Zach took off across the turf. Thirty metres to cover; five seconds to do so. Two seconds saw the first ten metres behind him.

The axe was picked up.

Ten metres to go.

The axe was raised.

With five metres to go, Zach feared the worst. The sweat which poured down his face prevented him from seeing the axe come down.

Or anything else.

He tripped and fell forwards, his head striking the tree. 

Darkness.

Zach awoke, a bead of perspiration trickling down his cheek. Or was it a tear? He couldn’t tell. The clunking of iron on wood brought him to his senses and two seconds saw him on his feet. 

The tree, bravely resisting the forces applied to it, was one hit away from the point of no return. Zach threw himself at the tree; between it and the axe, a frantic “Noooo!” escaping him.

The hewer ceased fire.

“What’re ye doin’ old man? This is…”
“Don’t do it! I implore you!” Zach’s voice was hoarse. “It’s the last one!”

“Government’s orders,” he explained, “get outa the way.”
“No.”

“You are impeding the progress of government orders! I’ll have the law on you.”

Zach watched him storm off. 

For a minute he sat panting, alone with his tree. Rising, he ran his hand up and down the trunk, sensing the rough and weatherbeaten texture. It was an apple tree, hosting but one remaining apple.

For his hand to be up there retrieving the fruit, was with Zach the work of a moment. His thumb stroked the soft, round surface, and a waft of the natural, if a little dusty scent found his nose. Zach took a bite.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, through a mouthful. “Just beautiful.”

He took another bite. The liquid flowed through his body, rejuvenating his stricken spirit.

He was so engrossed in this business, upon reaching the core, that the arrival of his previous companion, now accompanied by two police officers, escaped his notice. 

“What’s all this?” was the phrase which brought Zach round with a jump. He could see every detail of the policeman’s dead, bloodthirsty eyes which stabbed at him through a relentless gaze. “Impeding the the progression of the law, are we? Come along now then!”

Zach felt his arms being tugged, as the policemen yanked him away from the tree. 

“Nooo!” he yelled, “It’s the last tree! Listen!”

“Save ya breath for the authorities,” barked the policeman. 

Zach’s eyes were dry as he gazed at the horrific scene. The hewer lifted the axe, bringing it down with an almighty crack.

The tree was gone.

Zach was numb and half conscious as he was marched unceremoniously away. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did. The earth was dead. A sharp pain in his lower back brought him round. Once again he could smell the scent of dust and metal, and hear the noise of construction. Dust filled his mouth, and his saliva was dry. He could now see the cliff face they were passing, from which he had spied the last tree. Zach’s feet, barely encompassed by threadbare leather were feeling every metallic vertex he passed. 

In his hand, he felt an object. 

Zach jumped at the realisation. He was holding the apple core. His arm was held tightly, but wrist would do it. With one last effort, the core flew through the air and over the cliff. Zach watched it fall for what seemed like hours, before, striking the earth, the seeds emerged. Tiny bearers of hope, they settled slowly into the parent soil.