The Forest

• Julia Nance, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

He could hear distant beeping in the forest. A bird or a Frog? He was not sure. He was not focusing on the beeping. He was essentially focusing on the environment around him. It was exquisite. Anything that he had once thought of as beautiful now seemed bare in contrast.
He became aware of everything; every colour, every shade and shape – all seemed striking.
The ferns acted as natural umbrellas, fragile enough to pick one off, but destroying something so extraordinary seemed a crime.
The soil beneath his feat was soft; every leaf or twig he stepped on wouldn’t make a sound. They bent with movement.
The tall trees above him swayed in tune, communicating in beautiful voices.
It was until he put his entire focus on the trees that they seemed to be whispering to him. One was reading poems, another was telling him about what was happening in her life, it was as if she were almost familiar.
But he noticed the trees all seemed to be in pain. Their movement was awkward and their leaves fell in unusual numbers. He couldn’t help feeling a little saddened – as if the trees were his friends.
He walked and listened to the trees – his friends. Never saying anything back, they didn’t seem to be talking to him anymore – more to each other. His rhythm was relaxed, and he became aware of the beeping frogs or birds again which seemed to have slowed. However, he was relaxed listening to the trees.
It seemed to be a while before their conversation had a real effect on him; they mentioned ‘him being in pain?’ It hit as if he had being hit by a high speed train. He was in pain; every step seemed to hurt him a little more. And every step became slower, as did the beeping. But as the beeping got slower, the voices got faster, sadder and more panicked.
He tried desperately to shout to his friends above, to reassure them. How could they be so sad? They were part of the most beautiful place he’d seen. They themselves were beautiful, without them, the forest would be nothing at all; they fit it together.
It was as each of his last steps slowed to the sound of the beeping, that he looked at each of the trees above him and pictured them as people of a distant memory. He looked at each of their flaws only to realise that they had none. Everything he would have once seen as an imperfection now seemed as if it were essential to that particular tree. Looks no longer mattered because nothing apart of that environment could not be beautiful.
He slowly knelt on the moist soil and looked up at his friends the trees, and there was one last beep as he watched them sway towards him. He was suddenly saturated in warmth, as if being held by a dear friend or two.