Perhaps the sunset looked breathtaking that day. Maybe the smell of the fresh mist as it dozed across from the lake was relaxing. I might have liked the way the gentle breeze kissed me as it passed, or the way the rustling leaves twinkled as nature's windchime.
I wouldn't know.
What about when the people came? There were people, weren't there? Did I feel scared? Did I know what was going to happen?
I remember the axes. I remember the first chop, the first strike that cut deep into my bark. I don't remember if it hurt. Was I in pain? I remember falling. It was slow at first; the slow groan as my weight tipped over to the left, my heavy top branches leading me away from my centre. I don't remember if I felt helpless as I crashed down onto the forest floor. Was I scared?
I can't remember.
I've never been able to remember properly. My memory is fragmented: a sheet of ice smashed onto harsh concrete, impossible to restore. Faces are fuzzy. Sense of time is lost. 237 years of existence squashed into half a memory.
Except it's not like that. The rest of my memory is out there somewhere, but it has been tainted with the memories of another life. I need those memories. Without them, the questions will never disappear.
But there is still one question that plagues me more than anything.
Why am I still here? I am dead. I do not need to stay. I am but a whisper, not the life I used to be. Not a tree. I am nameless. Soulless. An empty spirit wandering its grave.
Why?
YOU ARE READING
Beech - Legend of the Dryads, Book 2
FantasíaWhat if she wasn't supposed to remember? A year ago, Jayne's life was turned on its head. Now, months on, the revelations learnt all that while ago are still haunting her. The Dryads may no longer be a threat, but is there something of even greater...
