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Description
We knew it was coming. The war. Tensions were high, the West against the East, brothers against brothers. We could feel it coming, with every breath we took, in every bite of food, in every heartbeat. Most people ignored it. What could we do to stop it? We were just civilians. Just normal people with normal lives.

But we felt it. When it came, we felt it. We felt the bombs dropping around us, the gas sent out to finish us off, every life that was ended. Every soldier that died. Every civilian that died. We could feel the heat of explosions, the fire that burned our cities to the ground and left us with nothing but ashes.

Now, most people don't feel anything anymore. Every park, every back alley, every library, every fast food place is now a graveyard. No more room in the real graveyards. We had to make do. Couldn't leave the dead outside to rot. I couldn't. Because even though most people don't feel anything anymore, I still do.

One day I found a seed. The package was burned up a little, but it was for a tree. And I want to plant that tree. The tree of life. This place needs some greenery anyway. Nothing but burned buildings and shot-out windows and the gray concrete rubble that lines every street and the trash that blows around like tumbleweeds out in the desert. The last spark of color I remember seeing is from the fires that burned it all down. Even the sky has turned grey. Mother Nature is depressed.

I'm living with one other survivor. He says that it's stupid to plant the tree. He says that we need the water for ourselves, that it wouldn't get any sunlight. He says the dirt's no good around here; it's filled with the poison of the gas and the tears of all the dead. But I don't care what he says. I want the tree that stands in the earth for the first time.

So when he's not looking, I go out into a park. The grass has been burned away and all the trees reduced to blackened stumps. The benches that once held people are now cracked, destroyed. There was a water fountain in the middle of the park, but now it's broken, bent, and water spurts out occasionally from it like it's bleeding. Pennies and quarters and nickels and dimes that children once threw into the fountain to wish for good luck are scattered around the edges of the broken fountain, occasionally catching what little sunlight there is.

I dig up some of the dirt and it crumbles away in my hands. I dig deeper until I find good soil, life-giving soil. I don't know much about gardening, but I do know that plants need good soil and water and sunlight. I can't give it too much sunlight, but I can give it good soil and water. I drop the seed in the hole I dug.

I tell the other survivor what I did, eventually. He's mad. Says that the tree is going to steal all of our water. He wants to dig it up, but I don't let him. Besides, it's already a sapling. It can grow. He says that I'm being stupid and crazy. I don't think I'm stupid and crazy. I just want to re-grow the Earth.

But he was right about the water. A couple weeks have passed and the tree's growing just fine. But it's stealing our water. We don't have as much. We wake up thirsty and go to bed thirsty. I catch the other survivor trying to dig up the tree, but he's too weak. Not enough water.

Now I'm dying and soon I won't be able feel anything, like the people we buried or wrapped up in scraps of clothing wherever we could put them. I don't mind dying. There's not much to do here. Except tend to the tree. It's looking pretty good now. I can hardly believe that it's still growing, with little sunlight and little water and little good soil. It's looking pretty good, and I'm looking pretty bad. I don't want to live much longer anyway. Not much to do here, and I'm stealing the tree's water.

Description
We knew it was coming. The war. Tensions were high, the West against the East, brothers against brothers. We could feel it coming, with every breath we took, in every bite of food, in every heartbeat. Most people ignored it. What could we do to stop it? We were just civilians. Just normal people with normal lives.

But we felt it. When it came, we felt it. We felt the bombs dropping around us, the gas sent out to finish us off, every life that was ended. Every soldier that died. Every civilian that died. We could feel the heat of explosions, the fire that burned our cities to the ground and left us with nothing but ashes.

Now, most people don't feel anything anymore. Every park, every back alley, every library, every fast food place is now a graveyard. No more room in the real graveyards. We had to make do. Couldn't leave the dead outside to rot. I couldn't. Because even though most people don't feel anything anymore, I still do.

One day I found a seed. The package was burned up a little, but it was for a tree. And I want to plant that tree. The tree of life. This place needs some greenery anyway. Nothing but burned buildings and shot-out windows and the gray concrete rubble that lines every street and the trash that blows around like tumbleweeds out in the desert. The last spark of color I remember seeing is from the fires that burned it all down. Even the sky has turned grey. Mother Nature is depressed.

I'm living with one other survivor. He says that it's stupid to plant the tree. He says that we need the water for ourselves, that it wouldn't get any sunlight. He says the dirt's no good around here; it's filled with the poison of the gas and the tears of all the dead. But I don't care what he says. I want the tree that stands in the earth for the first time.

So when he's not looking, I go out into a park. The grass has been burned away and all the trees reduced to blackened stumps. The benches that once held people are now cracked, destroyed. There was a water fountain in the middle of the park, but now it's broken, bent, and water spurts out occasionally from it like it's bleeding. Pennies and quarters and nickels and dimes that children once threw into the fountain to wish for good luck are scattered around the edges of the broken fountain, occasionally catching what little sunlight there is.

I dig up some of the dirt and it crumbles away in my hands. I dig deeper until I find good soil, life-giving soil. I don't know much about gardening, but I do know that plants need good soil and water and sunlight. I can't give it too much sunlight, but I can give it good soil and water. I drop the seed in the hole I dug.

I tell the other survivor what I did, eventually. He's mad. Says that the tree is going to steal all of our water. He wants to dig it up, but I don't let him. Besides, it's already a sapling. It can grow. He says that I'm being stupid and crazy. I don't think I'm stupid and crazy. I just want to re-grow the Earth.

But he was right about the water. A couple weeks have passed and the tree's growing just fine. But it's stealing our water. We don't have as much. We wake up thirsty and go to bed thirsty. I catch the other survivor trying to dig up the tree, but he's too weak. Not enough water.

Now I'm dying and soon I won't be able feel anything, like the people we buried or wrapped up in scraps of clothing wherever we could put them. I don't mind dying. There's not much to do here. Except tend to the tree. It's looking pretty good now. I can hardly believe that it's still growing, with little sunlight and little water and little good soil. It's looking pretty good, and I'm looking pretty bad. I don't want to live much longer anyway. Not much to do here, and I'm stealing the tree's water.