Trees of Wishes

A glowing tree appeared in his backyard. Its roots curled in the dirt, grounding itself and claiming the earth. The bark shimmered faintly in the light, a beautiful light taupe color, reflecting the sun covered by a thin layer of clouds. Birds he had never seen before slowly flitted through its branches, and the air smelled faintly of grass and incoming thunder. A cold wind swept through, rustling the olive green leaves and the branches, and the rain began. Slowly at first, matching the pace of the dark clouds slowly forming overhead, before turning into a steady fall. Raindrops drummed through the leaves, but the tree seemed to absorb the water instead of shaking with the relentless wind. The flash of lightning followed the thunder that rang through the air, piercing the sky like a needle through fabric. A branch suddenly started growing, sprouting leaves and an exotic silver fruit shaped like a teardrop. Promptly after rising, it seemingly detached itself from the branch and fell onto the ground. Lightning and thunder rang through the sky again as it absorbed the water from the storm, revealing the seed of another tree. It rose higher and higher, growing its own fruit and sprouting more trees. The leaves glistened with every color, ranging from dark sepia to bright orange. Together, they created a majestic forest of mystical trees, whispering words he couldn’t quite grasp, and a path formed slowly from within. He carefully tread through the forest, feeling every trunk and taking in every leaf. They were strong and brittle at the same time, creating collages of color above his head. It was still raining, but lighter now, and sunlight bore its way through the clouds and shimmered on the wet leaves. He came across a small, wooden shack, covered in vines and dried leaves. It didn’t look inviting, yet he felt as if he had to go inside. He felt the pull with every step, before finally breaking into a run and bursting through the creaking door. Inside was dusty, full of cobwebs and vines, but there was a clean table and a worn book. He picked up the book, feeling its age as he rubbed the spine and the cover. It had no title. He opened the book to find that there were only seven words sprawled across the first page. This is what the world could’ve become. As he read it, more and more images appeared: mystic animals, large plants, colorful fish in coral reefs. Then it shifted to images of war, of plastic waste, of habitats destroyed, and animals killed. He read it over and over, replaying the words in his mind: this is what the world could’ve become, this is what the world could’ve become, this is what the world could’ve become, and not noticing that all the trees outside slowly withered away with the wind, leaving just another backyard.