The Tree of Freedom

I look up at the crooked tree, pulling myself carefully onto one of it’s sturdy branches.

This was a real apple tree. Not false, like the genetically engineered ones in rich people’s homes. Not false, like the government’s intentions when the sent their armies overseas to ‘help’ weaker countries. And not false, like the rebel group’s promises to leave that night, without destroying my home, and without killing my family.

Because those trees were made in a lab, not in the Earth.

Because the government intended on taking over those countries, not helping them.

Because the rebels didn't leave.

They didn't let my home go untouched.

And they didn't let my family survive.

Yes, this tree was real, and unlike all of the false things in this world, the fruit of this tree was sweet.

. . .

It has been nearly a century since the wars had begun, and it will take another century before someone is smart enough to end them. I don’t care if ending the wars means putting an end to all mankind, because our abused Mother Earth would probably be better off without humans constantly killing her.

The world is falling apart, either way. The land that was once known as North America has been reduced to less than half its size because of rising water levels, and what’s left of it has been destroyed by multiple bombings, and turned into a wasteland. Plant and animal life is a rarity, and humans have separated into rebel groups that battle each other to gain territory.

My countryside home was approached by a rebel group three years ago, when I was thirteen. They took control of our land for its farm’s food production, and killed my parents. My twin brother, Kyle, died of his wounds two days after the group moved in.

I, on the other hand, survived.

And I am planning to forever change the way my story has been written.

I am planning to be free.