Sylvan Sadness

Another day of leaden gray skies and the frigid, ever-rising waters led Calvin to the inescapable conclusion this would, in all likelihood, be his last day of life before succumbing to the ravages brought on by the gigantic and entirely merciless meteor that had struck the planet.  

His roots no longer brought him the nutrients he needed to, if not flourish, at least survive and he’d nearly forgotten how glorious it had felt to bask in the energizing warmth of morning sunshine.

He supposed, as trees went, he’d had a pretty good run of it but never imagined he would end his existence in such a dismal and lonely manner. In the prime of his health, he’d watched, helplessly, as the wee saplings lost the very tenuous hold their young roots provided and were swept away only to be followed into oblivion by the stately and aged who had no desire to remain in a world such as this and thus surrendered to a dreamless sleep from which they would never awaken.

Feeling the final spark of sentience fading from him, Calvin reckoned that, most of all, he would miss the children who’d laughed and played in the scenic wonder of the park that he and his brethren had called home and, with his last bit of strength, he prayed that wherever he was destined to spend his afterlife the children might be there too.

This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction prompt: Flawed