Leaf

by Lady Shinnite

Humanity was a tree, she decided, casting her eyes to the view above. There was a dreary feeling pervading the air, drawing on the cynical nature of individuals, bringing it to the forefront. Not even nature made an effort to be cheery today, both leaves and sky awashed in gray, displaying a darker tint not usually seen in fairytales.

Appropriate, as this was far from a fairytale. Her narrow gaze landed once more on the object of her contemplation as she brought her cigarette back to her lips. Smoke curled in her nostrils, but rather than sneezing she smiled. It was a calming smell, familiar and soothing. Much better, in her opinion, than wood smoke - the smell of which was unsettling, indeed.

But her purpose here was to reflect and remember, not contemplate on the different scents of smoke and so she stored her current train of thought to brood about later, concentrating on the scene before her. Gravestones flowed across the field, turning it into a checkerboard of green and gray. It wasn't a disturbing sight like most people would believe it to be - in fact, looking at all of those headstones made her feel a little bit envious. This was, in a way, something she could never have - a price for being alive, she supposed.

Everything had a price. But for her, at least, she felt the price was extraordinarily high. Not according to the zealous Christians that had been seen running around not more than a few years back, she supposed - the sins of the father and the sins of the mother and such. She took another drag, the smoke curling in the air before it was caught and dashed away by the wind. It certainly seemed to be true, but quite frankly to her it seemed unfair.

Unfortunately, life was unfair. As was death.

She walked through the army of headstones, a distracted eye noting the little details hinting at the progression of time and events: headstones extravagant and lovingly carved, headstones plain of stone and decor, headstones etched with hasty scrawl, and then just headstones - faceless, nameless, keepers of the dead with sealed lips, giving neither fact nor hint of the presence they stood for.

There was a single tree in the graveyard, and this solitary living being was the destination of her wandering feet. It was autumn, so most of the leaves had fallen, swept away by the wind. A few remained on the ground, completely forgotten as they lay snarled in the grass, hopelessly entangled with no way to free themselves. There was only one, solitary leaf remaining on the tree, all brown and shriveled, but still hanging on despite the wind threatening to tear it off.

Just like humanity, she reiterated. Individuals grew, bloomed, and then crumpled before being dropped by humanity and forgotten - their place already taken by a promising new bud. She shivered slightly, huddling in her coat. But before too long the tree became too old, or diseased, and each individual leaf was left to its inevitable fate, alone, their loss finally noticed with no one to replace them.

If the leaves had been alive, she could just imagine their reaction. Surprise, at first, but comfortable in their smug superiority - they were leaves, after all, they had survived through heat, droughts, and torrential rainstorms; they could survive this too. And then the first leaf fell, without a bud to replace it. A touch of fear, now, but they convinced themselves that it was a fluke, simply coincidence. And then another fell, and a third, a fourth. Panic, now, panic and a cling to a twisted mockery of moral support those were bad leaves, they said, and as bad leaves they deserved it.

But the leaves didn't stop falling. They grew ill, shriveled and brown, before succumbing to the infectious disease and plummeting. And then things began to break down. Pure panic, now. The leaves at the top tried to collect as much sunlight as possible, hoarding it, while the leaves below started to squabble amongst themselves, muttering darkly to others about higher-ups and neighbor alike. But even the amount of light didn't matter both those on top and on bottom fell in equal number.

And then there was only a few leaves clinging to the tree, all brown and brittle. There was no hope for them, and they awaited the fall with a sense of apathy, a fatalistic viewpoint tinting their sight. Yet despite such their bodies clung desperately on, braving howling wind and pouring rain - but why? Some desperate need to survive? Some strange debt to the dead? Or were they afraid of the fall, the unknown?

Then again, it didn't really matter, did it? Their reasons were their own, and no matter what they were all had the same result. She turned away from the tree, tugging on the collar of her coat as she gazed at the cityscape on the other side. Buildings rose, abandoned monoliths giving refuge only to the ghosts of the past. Dark smoke rose here and there, the sky graying as a result of the never-ending fires. The fires were needed, a desperate medieval tactic to spare those they could, the need for survival outweighing anything else. The ash that darkened the sky, she wondered, was it from wood or burned flesh? Was it the remains of those dead dimming the light in more ways then one?

She couldn't blame them, if that was the truth. Some may even call it the will of an angry god, allowing the ashes of the dead to blanket them, to haunt the dreams of those that burned them, and of those that simply stood by, giving no more than a passing thought to those that moved on, too concerned with their own survival. She didn't really care, though, if it was merely coincidence or the work of some spiritual being - they were damned already, completely and utterly, and there was nothing anyone could do to make it worse or better.

Not that burning the dead - or the dying - was the worst that had happened. Humanity had broken down, becoming little primitive tribes focused only on survival. There were recent whispers, talking of another group only a few miles away that had run out of food. That group, they said, raided one of the last working orphanages in the country perhaps the world - and slaughtered all the uninfected children. Some whispers said that they justified it as cruel mercy, as something to keep the children innocent and unharmed from the plague around the world. All hogwash, the listeners had replied - what sort of mercy would justify adults eating little children? It wasn't mercy, merely survival, and it was a testament of the times that a story that would have once gathered horrified stares was now lucky to cause more than a batting of eye and grumble.

Shivering slightly, she headed back to the silent city, her footsteps crunching on fallen leaves and twigs. The graveyard was a much pleasant place to be, but it wasn't home. It simply stood as a cruel reminder of the past, of when the cities were bustling with life, of when the dead were properly buried and not rotting on the streets, or burned to ash. If she had been the spiritual sort, she would almost think herself already dead, already dead and suffering in Hell. But, this wasn't Hell - simply life. The breeze picked up, causing her to shiver and huddle in her coat as she continued to her destination.

And on the tree behind her, the last leaf fell.

Author's Notes: Yes, I actually posted this somewhere. My first completed original piece short as it is. ^_^ It was interesting, though, writing something other than fanfiction. And, there's really not much explaining you can do about a piece like this it speaks for itself. And, yes, it's confusing but it's supposed to be confusing, in a way. Though, not as confusing as this note probably is. >_>