I still remember when I was just a small sapling. There were two elder trees growing near me at the time, but they are long gone now. Trees don't really have "parents", as humans call them. Only elder trees that watch over you if you happen to grow near them. It's an elder tree's job to protect the saplings and see to it that they grow to be strong trees as well.
They days of my saplinghood were joyful. I had many other trees of my age growing near me, and late at night, when the humans were gone, we would communicate through whispers that carried through the wind. Trees don't speak the same language as humans, but sometimes, if you listen closely, you may be able to hear us speak softly, the way trees do. The elder trees near me had been cut down nearly ten years ago now. All that remains are two stumps that stood where they once did. Humans are cruel that way, taking what is not theirs.
I am a yew tree, not a common tree. There used to be children who would run through the ground beneath the trees near me. My only company now is the lake a few hundred yards away from where my roots are tucked in the earth. Now, only a small boy comes from the village that lies just beyond the hills surrounding my home. But even he fails to visit me some days. A few times the boy has come, he talked, almost to himself. His face looked as though he were suffering the great sadness that I was, though there is no telling of humans.
A few squirrels inhabit me as well. Trees are supposed to be contented with housing small animals such as these, but lately, my mood has been sourer than ever, and they irritate me. It is only occasionally that a tree is grown with the abilities to communicate with these animals. I have not been gifted, though my old sapling friend was. During the winter is the time when I am at my worst. I am angry. Even the slightest gust of wind causes me to shake with anger. The squirrels do not like this, I can tell because they scratch at me and hiss. I could provide them shelter, but I do not, for I am too bitter.
One day, during the summertime, when the birds were chirping and the sun shone bright, the little boy came to me. He came to me with drops on his face and shaking arms. And for the first time, I realized that the cruel humans that took away everything made me just as cruel. The boy had hugged me, a peculiar feeling. Humans were usually never affectionate with me back when they still came around. The broken little boy with piercing blue eyes fell asleep under me that night. And when the rain started to fall, I found myself shifting my branches to keep him dry.
When he awoke, he looked up at my tall form once more, and turned and left back towards the village. He did not come back for a week. I grew lonely once more, and my age was beginning to catch up with me. I felt that I would not be on the earth for much longer.
The boy returned later that month, along with him several others, five of them carrying a large box. They grew closer and closer and set the box down below me. The humans were all crying openly and the boy ran up to the box, throwing his arms around it. Sob after sob came out of him. The boy's father pulled him away from the box, holding him back. Another one took a shovel and dug near my roots until there was a hole below, maybe six feet deep. They lowered the box into the hole, and then covered it up again, placing a single, lonely rose on the spot where the hole had been.
They never came back.
Over time, I realized that the squirrels were good company. They weren't so bad as I thought they were. Almost... cute. The day when the boy came for the last time had changed me. I saw what true sadness was, and that if I really stopped to look, I would see I am not alone. There are weeds growing around me, with the occasional flower. There are many types of birds, and small animals. I saw, truly, for the first time what my home was.
I found that trees could sometimes talk to flowers if they were close enough. There was only one flower I could talk to, but that was good enough for me. So one night, when it was quiet, I quietly whispered to the flower. She didn't respond until enough time had passed that I wondered if it was actually dead.
That was the night I learned from the flower that I had killed the little boy's mother. I was the only yew tree near the village, the only tree that could produce medicine. I hadn't known this. My bitterness had not allowed me to produce medicine. My mood affected me so much I could not even produce enough to save one human. The human that was currently buried at my roots.
I had been selfish. I had not been able to see properly, blinded by my own despair. I realize I was not so lonely, not now and not ever. I never made that mistake again, and I continued to produce medicine for the village beyond. The humans even planted a few more trees near me. I helped the village until it came time for me to pass on, and I left the world happily, knowing that I had helped the humans greatly.
(The ending is short because I was rushed)
