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Yayy, here we are again. Idk, I think I like this? Originally the trees were supposed to eat people and take human sacrifices as compost but oh well, you get what you get. My classmate asked me to write him something with the topic "begin with the end in mind..."  And we talked about reading the Bible afterwards so I had to trigger his soul ever so slightly in there somehow. I snuck the homework in there, I don't have time for two different ones right now. What was the assignment? Something something something, the words "that was the last breath she took..." Or so I think. And on that note, I should stop being so extra, I'm not trying to write the next Lord of the Rings here, just show that I know how English works. Maybe I'll come down later?

"Begin with the end in mind..."

"that was the last breath that she took..."

• 𝓼𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓵𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 •

It had been but a few breaths short of Nirvana.

A land worthy of praise and song and story. The air always thick with scents and a richness any man would have no qualms getting intoxicated on. It filled the expanse of your lungs with its warmth and crispness, you simply couldn't get enough. In each breath, it served as one of the plethoras of things we sans appreciated with acknowledgement. Roaring winds bolted across plain fields, sourcing the dancing of knee-length grass and flight of dandelion fuzz.

Hills peeked further than the eye could see, trees atop them and all over stood tall and proud, surveying the magnificent lands as guardians and protectors. They never slept, never tired, never neglected their duties, in return, we nurtured them as a mother would her last born. We gave and from what we did, we received as much in tenfold. This land blessed my forefathers, sweetened my early years and brightened my view of the world amid its shortcomings.

This land I can call mine no more.

Green fields I rolled about in, I chased spiny green hoppers in, are now turned black with tarmac. Exotically coloured bushes, bright with life from blooms that scented so delicately were eradicated for the sake of a trash can or two. Birds and all the other wildly singing creatures I used to mimic as children carry their songs with the winds no more, not here.

Instead, as far as the eye can see clearly, white carbon copies sit side by side. Two stories tall, all of them. Sloping rooves lined with muddy brown, terracotta tiles. Clear as ice, glossed over glass windows lined with chalk white paint, four on each wall. Picket white fences, small patches of grass, mockeries of the land's past glory sit in yards front and back.

The sight is deceitful on the billboards, more so on websites where they flaunt the land they took from me. With scorn, I think of these people living on land that belongs to me, they are no greater than thieves. Bitterness so strong I could taste it fills my mouth as I spit refute to their acts.

My attempts at reclaiming my land were futile, my people now forget our home, they move away and worship new gods, looking for new lands to claim. I blame the young not, they know not why we wait, those who wait.

The land gives what it gets. Our land, kissed by the sun, blessed by the Giver isn't like the lands of these strangers, these thieves claiming her. Our land, my land, she roars like the jungle's rulers and contests all that challenge her. She will not suffer in silence.

It will be a night clearer than others, the stars will hide for they fear to watch the atrocities below, the moon will shine brighter, giddy to see it all. The claimers of my land will sleep, they will breathe greedily air now stale as they believe everything is as it should be. They will have no time to prepare.

They will have nowhere to go.

They will be too stunned to speak as the protectors of my land rise from their stationery chosen places, they will think it a dream. Many will drop dead at that moment; they may be luckier than the rest. They won't know what it is to be afraid of nature, of objects inanimate, they will shake, their bodies rocked with blends of fear and anguish. Their hearts will beat firmly, ostentatiously and ferociously, so shall be the melody to their last moments.

The protectors will expel any intruders upon the land. I haven't any idea how it shall occur on this night as they are a mysterious, crafty lot. However, from the threats of elders and stories by bright embers in the thick of night, I can assume what might happen.

As such had occurred in the past, from tale to tale, it was said that the very ground beneath our feet would reject its new inhabitants. The earth, spoken of so lightly would open her mouth so broadly, the rest of the world would rumble at her protest, mountains would tremble and winds will chorus her outrage. Mayhap it will be beautiful, a beauty those at the mercy of the Giver will sans see.

The violent turbulence brewing within the earth's core, exposed with a mouth open so widely would cast prayers to gods they may not have been fond of before from their lips, these thieves. They know not that their gods will not hear them over the earth's cry.

Those who undressed her, taking off her blooms, slipping off her grassy cover and leaving her bare, with false coverings of tarmac roads and empty, pretentious houses; the ones trying to scramble away from the fruits of their work will be cast to the earth. They will feel her terror, they will be the sacrifice and their lives will suffice. She will take with them their atrocities against her and not soon after, satisfied, she and the protectors will sleep once more. They will resign to the peace of slumber, though not quite, as in their stillness, they will witness all.

That was the last breath that she took for all to see; when her mouth closed, the sun arose. In her slumber, she may seem silent as she cries out no more, people will not look on in terror. However, roaring winds will breathe life, her life, into the world again like new, sweeping away the stench of death, filling the air with her promise of never-ending love. Displaced souls will wander back home, critters and creatures alike will screech to break the calm.

Of all this, I can caution you but two things, simple things, true things. Do not think the earth not loving and kind after this for she is the best mother, she never fails to provide. Do not also assume you can take advantage of her at no cost to yourself. She is a vain lover.

After her terror has reigned down, others shall move on in fear, walking on eggshells. I, on the other hand, will walk with stride, I will jump, sing, dance and scream from the rooftops, I am going home. Home at last.