Nick S.

One day, the tree began to speak to me. I would sit on the the back porch and listen. He pleaded to me for help. He knew that somewhere beneath his rough outer bark was something of beauty. He said he was put here on earth for a reason. He wanted to reach his full potential, but he couldn't do it alone. I spent many hours swinging from his gnarled branches, and relaxing in his shadow. I tried to convince him that he was perfect just the way he was, yet he persisted. Not a day went by without him asking: “Is today the day?” Until the constant nagging finally broke me, and I left. I wandered the aisles of the hardware store looking for the sharpest ax they had. I had never killed a friend before, and I wanted it to be as quick, and as painless as possible. When I returned carrying the glistening silver ax over my shoulder, the wind kicked up, and he began to sway to and fro. It was a dance of pure joy. The first swing penetrated deep into his flesh. I wriggled the blade loose, and sap came pouring out of the open wound. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I cocked back for another swing. The second blow was easier, and soon he fell to the ground. Hidden within that dead pile of wood was a thing of beauty, and I only had to whittle away, inch by inch, until I found it. Eventually, it was finished. I had condensed the essence of my best friend down to something more beautiful than even he could have imagined. I carried him with me until the day I died, and not one day went by when I couldn't hear him saying: “Thank you.”.