My first attempt at Flash fiction.
No one knows just how much I see. I’m just the scare crow to keep the birds away and for the children to mock me. I am made of sticks. Where do sticks come from?
Once upon a time I was a living breathing being. I helped sustain life and I even got hugs for it. People would marvel at my glorious lush head piece of green foliage. I was tall and grand and people sat by me, happy to take some shade.
Now ,I am just a bunch of twigs. Look at how they dress me. I am so ashamed. I can’t bear to look anyone in the eye. This is why as each day passes I die just that little bit more. Rigid – if only I could reach high enough to be a part of heaven’s deities again.