Creative Writing Prompt #216: Write from the point of view of the last standing tree in a forest.
The roar of the buzz saw was followed with an echoing crash, leaving me standing tall and alone, amidst a grave yard of century long companions. Day by day they come and remove the remains of my fellow compatriots piece by piece. I wonder how long I have left before they come to remove my limbs. I'm morbidly curious what will be made of me and if I will bring happiness to others. The spectacular view that I once shared seems to have changed drastically and knowing that I am the last of my kind to partake of it, makes it all the more special. I have seen this landscape change in so many ways just as it will continue while I am gone. I have seen the rivers run dry, only to replenish with the first rain of spring. I have seen these mountains blanketed with a brilliant white sheet of snow as well as an assortment of colorful botanic masterpieces. I may have never gone anywhere in my long solitary life, but I have seen things that you nor any other will ever see. I see that my day has come, for you have harvested every splinter from my fallen brothers. You look up at me, as you prepare your tools for my removal. No tears for me to shed, no pleas to be said, I am sure neither would result in absolution. I reach for the sky and absorb the view one last time as I hear you yell... timber!