The Trimming: A microscopic narrative

I heard it but didn’t believe it; a loud thump all around. I’m sure it was just something bumping into us. Our leaf was strong, us cells kept it strong. There’s no way it could have happened so soon. Autumn was a distant event in the future, something that bothered us little until it was actually time to pack up shop. Yet here I was, feeling the panic set in. We were homeless, our ship had sunk. Would the mother tree miss us? No, I suppose not it was just a single leaf. But would I be missed? Day after day waking up at dawn and opening the stomata, producing glucose till night fell. Would my efforts be remembered? I don’t know, but I would like to hope that I helped everyone. Perhaps our little leaf hasn’t left though maybe a stem was broken, we can heal that for sure! No… no, I am just giving myself false hope. I feel dry, my membrane is shrinking. I slowly shut down my organelles doing as I was briefed on so long ago, I wonder if I was right to follow all these orders so blindly. The cold hard ground put pressure against my cell wall, this is it.

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The decomposition is remorseless; I feel my entity torn to pieces by alien and mysterious things that dart so quickly here and there. Slowly what’s left of me sinks into the dirt. This is death. I cry for what seems like years, I have nothing and no one.

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With all hope gone suddenly a hard object protrudes into me. Sudden optimism fills me. I feel a force pull me towards this stranger. This is root. I can’t believe it back within the mother tree, I was loved, I was remembered they rescued. Pass old friends who welcome me back. I feel my nutrients surging back through the mother tree. After the months of the cold dirt, the warmth of the mother tree is ecstasy. I’m home.

Thanks for reading, Ross

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