"What is a Voice?"
The sounds of people blaring their horns and screaming profanities at one another pierce my ears and shake my very core. I watch as a man and woman across the street fight one another for the single yellow taxi that reminded me of my little friends, the daffodils. As I sit at the edge of the park and stare at the synthetic grass spread out before me, a feeling befalls me, one I have never felt.
I feel sick.
A heavy nostalgia covers me as I think of a long ago time, surrounded by family and friends, the lot of us taking up acres beyond acres of green lush lands, where magic felt real, and the birds sang their afternoon songs, harmonizing with the cicadas, as the deer danced with one another to the soothing melody drifting throughout the woods. However, it is just myself now, all alone in this generic park.
I stretch my limbs as the glaring sun stares at me down from his place high in the sky.
He is so very rude.
Ah, days as this that feel so prolonged make me crave companionship, oh how I long for those that were forcibly taken from me, ripped right from their earthly home with such brutality, with their most fragile of parts exposed for all to see. And all for what? A slab of cement that now holds nothing but road ways, unused parking lots, or giant buildings that compete with the clouds themselves in order to reach the sky?
Oh how man has disappointed me so, I who had such hope for them. But I was wrong, so terribly wrong. After all we have sacrificed for them; the fruit of our womb, our bodies for their homes, and our very breath for their life. We gave and gave and continued to give until all was completely taken, and now we have nothing left.
Today is my birthday and I am two-thousand years old as of today and I have seen no greater destructions than that of man's. Today is my last day on my once beautiful home, as I watch the machines that took my brothers and sisters, my mother and father. They come closer and closer as they come to execute me and take me. Those evil, great machines. I still have flash backs when they first came for us, I can still hear the screams of my people, the cry of their agony, and the suffering in their eyes.
I am saddened by the fact that the daffodils will be taken with me, what sweet children they are, they are so frightened. I try to comfort them but they shake as the subtle breeze blows. I look towards the sky to say my goodbyes, and the sun, crestfallen, hides behind the clouds as they themselves comfort him, as they turn gray and begin to cry.
I am not ready.
I am not ready to stop seeing hundreds of love stories and life and all the good that is left in this world. I am not ready as they stop right in front of me with their great machines. I am not ready as they begin digging below me. I am not ready as they cut into my most fragile parts. I am not ready as they lift me. I am not ready as they cut my limbs off. I am not ready as they feed me to the machine that will grind me up into fine dust.
But my body is nothing more than a measly amount of paper.
Ja'ie comes from the small town of Hana, Maui. She has always had a passion for writing and found writing fiction stories to be something that allowed her to relax and express herself. She hopes you enjoy her story!