Ladies and gentlemen... the WrongPlanet writing showcase

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enduring the years
some bloody red rocks
hide a ghost failing to remember
nothing seeking memories never
created
dreams that do not exist for him
from the wrecked girl
haunt the ghost
connected when she looks in the
cool water flowing over the soaked rocks
carrying particles to the river
troubles, she hopes, will flow
away bits of her crumbling time
will disconnect and drift perhaps
to mix with the blood burdened with light

Beached

I am like a clam on the sand
pushed back and forth as our friendship ebbs and flows
never ready for that tide which pushes me back toward shore.

It is never fair when your waves tumble me
and spit be out on the sand left to dry,
beached,
gasping as the salty air scratches my once moist flesh.

Yet, instead of letting go and turning into a sand crab
who can bury myself into the earth when you come back for me,
I stay a helpless little clam for you to play with.

I wish I could be a rose bush
who grows far, far from this forsaken beach.

A rose bush is treasured among all flowers
and tended in her garden to last as long as possible,
whose blooms are always anticipated
and loved.

Dinner Dispute

The Velociraptor matriarch's rumbling stomach reminded her of how desperately she needed food. Her flock had been stealing through the forest all night, meticulously searching the shadows and undergrowth with their glowing eyes, but they had found nothing that would slake their hunger. Nor could they smell anything but the forest's usual musty odor. The matriarch considered giving up the hunt and bedding down for the day, but she knew that starving raptors could not sleep. Nor could they get along, for hungry raptors were quick to turn on each other. For the sake of her flock's cohesion, they had to find food before the sun came out.

The forest's chorus of chirping crickets and croaking frogs was shattered by a shrill whine followed by a reverberating thud. These sounds excited the matriarch. She knew the cry had been the death call of an Edmontosaurus and the thud had been its collapse. Wherever a large dinosaur died, there was a mountain of meat, more food than her flock had ever needed for one meal. The very thought of that melted her mouth's inside.

The raptors scurried through the palmettoes and ferns towards where the matriarch was sure the noises had come from. Eventually the matriarch could smell the appetizing aroma of spilled entrails. The stronger the scent grew, the faster she and her flock ran.
Then they halted.

A freshly killed edmontosaur did indeed lie before the raptors, but they were not alone. A Tyrannosaurus was gorging on the carcass, crunching through bone and tearing off huge mouthfuls of flesh.

The raptor matriarch's first impulse was to turn and flee back, but then her stomach rumbled again. She didn't want to avoid a big opportunity to kill her hunger once and for all, but her whole flock had to get around the tyrannosaur somehow. There were too many raptors for them to all successfully sneak towards the carcass and steal bites of meat while the big predator wasn't looking, so the stealthy option wouldn't work. Only a direct confrontation would.

Wait, had she lost her mind? The tyrannosaur could swallow her in one gulp. She may have had a whole flock behind her, but never before had they tackled a fully-grown dinosaur that was so massive. No, they to leave him alone. They had to bed with an empty stomach in the upcoming morning. And they had to tear each other to pieces in their desperation. The matriarch would rather be swallowed whole than let that happen to her flock.

She strutted out of the underbrush towards the tyrannosaur and squawked at him. When he raised his blood-soaked muzzle from his kill to glare down at her, the raptor stamped her feet on the forest floor and flapped her feathered wings as a threat display. The tyrannosaur puffed out a gust of air through his nostrils to show his contempt. The raptor persisted, stamping and flapping at more furious rates and screeching shrilly. Opening his cavernous mouth, the tyrannosaur responded with a deafening roar that almost blew the raptor away. Yet she still would not flee.

The raptor knew that the tyrannosaur would not willingly yield to her. She had no choice but to force him away. She bit him on the snout.

Another roar escaped the tyrannosaur's gaping jaws. Flapping her wings, the raptor leapt onto his snout and slashed at it with her foreclaws. The rest of her flock erupted from the bushes screeching and joined her in pouncing onto the giant beast.

The tyrannosaur thrashed his head side to side. The raptor matriarch clung on, her claws plunging deeper into his flesh. He thrust his snout upward so that her back crashed into an overhanging bough. Pain burned her spine. She released her foreclaws.

Another sideward thrash of the tyrannosaur's head sent her flying off. She collided with a tree trunk and slid down it. The rough bark grazed her back, reddening her feathers. Her strength and wrath bled out as she descended to the ground. Were she to make another attack, she would be killed. All the matriarch could do was watch her flock fare better in savaging him.

The rest of the raptors had striped the tyrannosaur's hide with scars, yet he did not relent. He stomped and shook his body. He flung off raptors. He tore them off with his jaws and chomped down on them. And he crushed them underfoot. Raptor after raptor died until there were none left. The tyrannosaur, though coated with blood now, had triumphed, and he declared this with a great roar.

The matriarch was horrified that her whole flock had been killed. She was all alone now, and it was all her fault. A few puny Velociraptors were not enough to take down or even intimidate Tyrannosaurus, the gargantuan king of the forest. What a stupid idea she had come up with! And how tragically ironic it was that, in her zeal to help her flock survive, she had caused its destruction.

The raptor disappeared into the forest in shame while the tyrannosaur continued his meal.

Here's a little story I wrote about an egg...

[written 29.04.2010, 22.30-ish]

The blur of modern life

when the blur of modern life overwhelms us,
when I am eclipsed by culture,
when I walk on dust
and the sky is filled with nothing
but tears and neon,
and the empty screams they pierce my ears
I cling to whatever’s near

you run away

but

we sing the same songs
when you get drunk
I just get numb

and we
run, run, run
away
together, we run

run, run, run
run, run …

we value the same essentials
we appreciate the same stillness
we fill the same void, we want to
seek the epicentre, I do
you walk the fine line
and the ridges distort in the horizon

you jump, you just jump

when distance is the only thing left
and when you let it go its own way
when the common ground shakes
between you and me

then I run

when

you try to hold on

because
you are distant.

For no particular reason.

A question from a new member here... Is it ok to post poems and such in the art section outside of this thread? Also the link on the first page doesn't work, and I don't wish to hunt through all the pages, what is the current situation regarding poetry and such?

I recently posted an original story of mine on the "adult section" of this site. I was directed to post the story on this forum as well and even at the risk of being redundant I think it is good advice. It's a story as well as an introduction so I may post it once more in the "intro" forum. Please excuse me if I appear to be "spamming"...I'm struggling with it's ambiguity.

Post called "The Horse and the Rider - Knowing your own mind."

I am 37 years old and was diagnosed with Asperger's four months ago. It had the effect of breaking me out of a seven year long suicidal depression. The seven year period was dotted with misdiagnoses, periods of hibernation, and constant loss. My diagnosis resulted in an ephiphany and subsequent rebirth. The resulting recovery is peppered with new challenges and a heightened aggression from family. But my reaction at this point is to take these head-on and predict instead of avoid. I am not the same person I was, I am so much more.

Looking back now I see abuse coming from all sides. I see ignorance stunting my growth. I followed the assessment of those around me that "for a smart kid you're not that bright". I adhered to the mantra of "BS Baffles Brains" so my best way through life was to lie and decieve to hide my implied stupidity. After the diagnoses and many subsequent tests I find that I am well above average in intellect and have a creative side untapped for decades.

The following is a story I wrote the day after recovery. All days before I was never able to write more than a sentence about myself. This reflects the power in knowing your own mind and thus being in control.

The Horse and the Rider - Joe Petrone

My mind is the horse and I am the rider.

We were a professional racing team. This was our first race and the odds were in our favor. The horse was a true champion, bred to run with a will for racing that was unmatched.

When the starting gate opened the horse took off at high speed early on, I lost control and fell off. The horse didn't notice me and kept running at full speed. I couldn't be separated from this horse so I ended up in an awkward position.

I got my left foot caught on the stir-up on the way down. So the horse dragged me. I made attempts to get back on but was stuck and couldn't reach the reins. I tried to reach my foot to free myself but this only wore me out. I tried shouting commands at the horse but nothing worked. I didn't know the horse's name and so I couldn't even get his attention.

After a while I just accepted my situation and focused on the race. I thought I could still finish it. The only thing I could do was dodge obstacles and hope the horse got us to the finish line. I just accepted my situation and got used to being dragged around the track.

Yes, I still thought I could finish the race this way. He was the horse and I was the rider and we were meant to race around this track. That was our purpose. It's what he was bred for and I was trained to do. Everyone else was finishing the race. Then again they were all actually on top of their horses.

Then things got worse. The horse veered off and left the track entirely. We were disqualified. The prospect of not being able to finish the race devastated me. I was a failure. Worse than that I embarrassed myself. I was a rider who couldn't control his own horse. This was a promising thoroughbred with excessive speed and ability, but I couldn't handle it and I even allowed it to take off and get completely lost.

But the current problem was that the horse blew through the arena and out into the wilderness on its own and now I had no idea where we were going. I don't think he did either. All he wanted to do was run fast.

Over many years I have been dragged around everywhere. Through the woods with brambles and tree trunks, the desert where I smashed into dunes, rocks, and cactus. We crossed rivers and mountains. I was beat up badly and there were times when it almost killed me.

I gave up on trying to get out of this alone. I screamed for help. Other riders tried to stop us. They called out names to me and I tried each one. Nothing worked. He just kept on running, seemingly on his own, with no real direction. He trampled me, I hit more rocks, the hard ground sliced into my back. I was exhausted, bruised, and bleeding.

Then one day my luck changed. It was immediate, dramatic, empowering, and overpowering. An epiphany. A sudden and complete understanding that seemed to come out of nowhere. Some call it luck, others call it fate. For me it was an inevitable outcome as I was resigned to, this, or death.

It started as a typical day, we happened to be running along the beach. It was soft and sandy so I was in about as good a shape as I could be given the situation. I wasn't expecting anything to change that day. Then as we ran past a group of riders one of them shouted another name to me, a new name. And this time it made sense.

I called out his name with authority and this surprised him. He skidded to a halt on the soft wet sand and reared up violently, forcing himself to stop. He just stood there, breathing heavily, staring out into the distance.

I freed my foot, shook out the sand, and stretched a little. I walked up to him calmly, took a hold of the reins, and looked at his face. He turned his head around and looked me directly in the eyes and for the first time he noticed that I was there.

I spoke to him calmly and he understood me. I let him know that I am his rider and told him my name. I told him that I know who he is now, his name tells me everything. I let him know that I'm not afraid of riding him and I still want to ride but he has to listen to me carefully now, what I have to say is important.

He cocked his head up, turned his left ear towards me, and looked at me from the side. He was listening...

I told him that I'm injured but I'm not angry and I mean him no harm. I told him that I'm not hurt that badly and I can still ride. That I'm a good person and I care about him. I told him that now I understand him better than anyone else and that gives me respect for him.

I reasoned with him that the race isn't important anymore so we don’t have to go back. It just goes around in circles and that's pretty much it anyway. Actually, it isn't even important where we end up at all when we ride now. The journey is the thing. That's our true purpose.

I told him that I was going to take control now. I promised that I won't steer him wrong and that I know what I am doing. He turned his head away, tensed up a little, and positioned himself so I could mount. I took that as a "yes".

He was standing still for a little too long during this exchange and began to flex and fidget. He was eager to start riding again and excited about this new situation. The prospect of having a rider. Not having to go around a race track forever in circles. Going to new places. He wasn't dragging this dead weight anymore so he could ride even faster now.

I climbed back on, put both feet in the stirrups, shifted a little, he made a few false starts so I pulled his head back. I tightened the reins. I pointed him in the opposite direction from where we were headed. He marched upright in a proud manner like a show horse as he turned playfully. When I had him facing where I wanted us to go I squeezed his sides with my feet, leaned forward, and we took off along the shoreline.

He asked me where we were going and I said that I didn't know, but it really didn't matter right now. The wind felt great and there was a sea breeze. I was already happy with where we were now and was looking forward to seeing what’s at the end of the beach, for now.

So now we ride together. We post in time with a rhythm like dancers across the long expanse. I'm sitting high up and I'm in control instead of dragging on the ground. I can see farther in all directions. The view is incredible.

I have no fear of the horse or our surroundings. I'm healing up quickly. Instead of dreading the next gauntlet of rocks, I'm looking forward to the places we can go.

And the great part is we both can get anywhere really fast if we want to.

After all, he's a race horse.

I've started an episodic short story that I've put up on my own site (each chapter is 1000+ words long so copy/pasting it here would make the thread look cluttered). I've shown it to a few friends but I've not received any feedback about it one way or the other, so I'd really appreciate opinions on how readable it is. If anyone's interested it's set in the UK sometime in the 2020s and is pretty much grounded in reality. No superpowers, no alternate realities...I guess cyberpunk is a close a genre definition as any, although it's more an experiment in character dynamics as much as anything. Anyway, I hope you like it.

There's a bit of swearing occasionally, in case you're sensitive to such things.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Intermission chapter (a 'flashback' to one of the main characters' childhood)

Chapter 3

I've likely shared this before, but here it is anyway...

Jaded

Beauty fades,
laughter fades,
anger fades.

We accept our destiny.
Steel our souls,
harden our hearts;
all to live in a world
of jagged edges and harsh realities.

Jaded is what they call us.
Stains on society is how they see us.
Is it really worth it?

Once proud hearts,
now bundled in the coldness of winter.
Left to ponder time
and it's inevitable axe
just waiting to come down on our heads.
Deterioration our worst fear.
Is it really worth it?

Don't have a title for it yet but here is a poem I wrote a few months back


ruined beyond any crime ever commited to the asylum of broken reality
taking away my child hood of laughter replacing what you thought only mattered
with your paranoid staged craze that uttered protection from my father
walk away and hide from all others the inner you that only rides the
emotions of the blood related demands not washing away the wrenching screams
raging through my chest of minor cuts to the veins you created with your mutilated dreams
never walking with the strength only trepidation of fear the abuse of words that kill with your gaze quieting down any truth you do not want me to relay with your mental confusion that
renders you into a guilt ridden menace shaking down the very strongest forming a twisted view to another lifeless flame

You guys are really talented, I am trying to think of a concept, but i have not yet conceptualize. I am thinking of using the Multiple Personality disorder or any such disorder with the main protagonist which changes his/her personality and behavior from time to time.

What do you think. Is this topic touched too many time or is it too confusing and boring.

Here's a snippet from the second book of a 6/7 book series I'm writing, I've placed some generic names in as I'd like to keep the characters and places a secret;

I gasped as the scenary whizzed by in a blur, I clung to my captor or was he my savior? Either way I held on for dear life as we weaved in between obstacles that I wasn't aware of until they were right in front of us. He held me close, his arms tight around me but was it to prevent me from slipping and possibly hurting myself or to prevent me from escaping, I couldn't be sure. I had no idea how far or how fast he ran but he didn't let up until the sun was starting to set and we appeared to be on the outskirts of a city, but not Everett, this was much, much bigger. I shivered as the cold air whipped against me, he squeezed me just a little closer to him as he whispered "I'm sorry for the cold, I carelessly didn't think about your aversion to low temperatures, we're almost there though I promise." He sounded so non threatening, almost concerned, hardly the whisperings of an evil being, a sadistic bloodthirsty creature who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, his tone had been so gentle, so caring. I tried to shrink into my coat as much as possible but it didn't help warm me up, I couldn't rely on him to warm me as his body temperature was much lower then a humans, if anything he was making the journey even harsher. His pace slowed as we entered a busy district of the unfamiliar city, he set me down on my feet before wrapping an arm tightly around my shoulders and gripping my right arm tight enough so that I couldn't pull free. I looked desperately at the faces around me, hoping my terrified expression would alert somebody to my plight but as with any large city, most people kept their heads down as they strived to get to their destinations, the few that did glance my way seemed to frown before averting their eyes. I should have screamed out for help but how would I explain the situation, nobody would believe the truth and no doubt at the first screech he would swoop me up and run at top speed to get me away from any do-gooders paying attention. "We're almost there now, just around the corner" he said as he half led, half dragged me around another block, I was doing my best to make things difficult for him. At one point I'd grabbed a railing but he uncurled my fingers from the metal post as easy as pie and asked me or perhaps warned me not to try something like that again, I still wasn't sure if he intended to harm me or not, I could only hope he wouldn't. I scanned the crowd one last time as we reached a building that he informed me was our destination, a young couple looked directly at me and I managed to mouth 'help me' to them but they just looked away and whispered to each other before hurrying off in a different direction, my hope plummeted as he led me through the elaporate revolving doors of what appeared to be an apartment complex.

"Good evening sir" a man behind the reception desk called out as he stood and bowed, "We're not to be disturbed Frank, not by anybody, particularly my collegues, do you understand me?!" Jack said as he shoved me in to an open elevator, Frank called back that he understood just as the elevator doors closed. I wrapped my arms around myself, I was cold and scared, I didn't know where I was or what awaited me. The elevator seemed to climb forever, I looked at the floor, we were just coming up to 97, I gulped as I looked to see what floor he'd pressed. None of the 130 lights were lit but a small intricate latch with a keyhole had light shining from within it, it must have been the penthouse floor and presumably only Jack had the key. I huddled into the corner fighting back the tears, if only we'd been on the first floor, at least then I had a shot at jumping out of a window, I let out a small cry as I realised I had no escape and no one was coming to save me. Jack loomed over me he was just a little taller then Carl, I whimpered again as I thought of Carl, wishing I was safely in his arms. "I'm sorry if I've frightened you, I didn't mean to, please believe me when I say I mean you no harm" and then he smiled, not the sly arrogant smile he'd shown infront of the others at the club but the soft, cheeky, warming smile I'd grown fond of so many months ago. It was only then that I noticed he wasn't sending those strange bad waves through me, the spine tingling icy ripples I'd recently become accustomed to from him were completely gone. That creepy feeling he'd sent through me since his return was completely absent, but why? had he enchanted me in some way?! I didn't feel any different, all that had changed was the feeling, I no longer felt nauseous at his touch, which was a welcome change as right now he was rubbing his hand up and down my arm. "Are you okay?", he moved closer to me, almost pinning me to the elevator wall, panic rose within me, his hand moved so fast that I flinched expecting him to strike me, but his hand slowed as he wiped a single tear away, his touch was so gentle, just as it had been the day he'd driven me to Rachel's house when I'd feared for her safety. "Don't cry Claire, everything will be fine, I swear" and he backed away just in time for a ping to announce we'd reached our floor.

Jack stepped out first and held the doors open as he waited for me to step out, what choice did I have, perhaps if I earned his trust I could sneak away, I gritted my teeth, this was not going to be easy. "Okay, I'll try to beileve you, I don't have much choice really do I?" I said as I stepped out of the elevator. I had expected a substantial corridor leading to to a few penthouses but we were in more of a small room, the hallway was almost as small as the elevator. A large heavy looking door stood infront of us, the keycode on the cream coloured wall next to it reminded me of the VIP room at Rob's club, I bit my lip as I re-called my final moments in the woods, seeing Laura crouched over Rob's lifeless body, screaming in grief. Jack's frantic pressing of the buttons on the keycode brought me back to the current situation, his vampire speed made it impossible for me to keep up with what numbers he entered but it was at least 12 digits long. The wall beneath the keycode seemed to collapse in on itself after he'd finished typing, a panel with a hand print on popped out, Feran placed his slender fingers against it, a green light swiped down across his palm before a robotic voice announced that it was a successful match. This had to be a joke, what was he James Bond?, he saw me staring with a perplexed look on my face at his security measures. "I'm afraid I have to be very careful, I have alot of enemies and undesirable's to keep out and after today that number will double particularly when my...comrades realise what I've done, it won't take them long to find which hideout I'm at." He said the word comrades like it was pure filth, there was certainly no love lost between him and his fellow creatures. It still seemed crazy that vampires infact existed, and even more insane that I was the daughter of the leader of the good vampires and Jack was the son of the leader of the bad vamps, ignoring the typical vampire traits of super speed, long range hearing (which I was yet to develop) and of course our matching deathly palour we both looked like typical young adults, nobody would suspect we were anything other then human.

I think it's a great idea. One of my favorite short stories is Gogol's "diary of a madman", which while not necessarily being from the perspective of "multiple personalities" is really well done, and in the end very touching.

btw, I recently finished the first short story I've written since I was in school and would love feedback if anybody has time to read it. It is a bit absurd and sad in the end, so don't read it if you don't like that.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

The weed and the tree


Day 1


"Life is a chain of misfortunes that manifest themselves in circumstance, and are often repeated or exacerbated by chance. Whether it be providence or karma, one thing remains, it only gets worse, then better, so it can worsen some more, and then get worse again." A tall oak tree with a shade of decay spoke ceremoniously to his friend the little weed. A friendship that was the product of placement, and nothing more, as the tree would put it. The two had known each other for a short period of time, through a rainy May, and a blisteringly hot june. "You are very bitter, it is all in your attitude, you can see the glass as..." The Weed was cut short just as he began to speak, "I don't care if the glass is half empty, or half full, I don't like the taste of the water anyway."
"Well, then I suppose it's good you can't drink water from a glass," the weed giggled cheerfully. He knew he was baiting the tree, but enjoyed it nonetheless, and did so only out of enjoyment for a spirited discussion, and not out any kind of mark of a passive agressive nature." "Well, my young friend, you may have come up with the perfect analogy for the point I'm trying to get across to you. Glass half nothing, what have you, what water you get is either witheld from you, or forced upon you by sheer chance." The two were silent for a moment- the tree was quite impressed with his wordplay, and the weed was taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air.
"I suppose you can view it that way, or you can be thankful, and happy for what you get." The weed continued preaching his personal philosophy of keeping a good attitude, and being happy with what the sun gives you. The tree argued convulsively, at times swearing loudly, but kept the decor of a spirited debate. He never attacked the weed's integrity or intelligence. After this the two talked of yard politics, rumors and joked around a little.
"Have you noticed that the children have not come out to play as they usually do?" the weed asked. "No," the tree responded raptly, "and I don't care. They kick things around, make a ruckus, all that nonsense. I swear those sons of lumberjacks are all going to be the death of me."
"Don't be so foolish. They mean no one any harm. They just play happily and don't have an ill wish for anyone. That's the way you should be."
"I don't think I can listen to you anymore. My branches hurt and your nonsense is distracting me from my one true joy- the cool evening breeze. I wish my roots weren't underground so they could feel it. Now, just be quiet you prickly little..."
"Please don't," the weed interrupted in a persistant, and yet meek tone. "If that's how you are going to be I'll not bother you 'til tomorrow. Good day, sir."

Day 2

The morning came and went. The insatiable sunlight warmed the dewey, mountain air. The overgrown grass and prickly weeds sang praises to the sun for hours on end, as the tree looked toward the magnificent mountains to the west. Near midafternoon, the weed finally spoke to his gigantic friend, "Please tell me why you won't join us for community and worship, my friend?"
"Ha! I prefer to keep to real things. Not worshipping some ambivalent prescense dozens of miles up in the sky."
"What is it about the grace of the sun that bothers you?" The weed asked frightfully. "You don't need shelter from the warmth of community, and freedom from the light of faith."
"Faith?" The tree snapped, "your far too young to have any idea what your talking about."
"Am I?" The weed asked resolutely. "I remember when I was young, I felt as you do now. Life was simple, and yet confusing; carefree, but still troublesome. I knew of the goodness of faith rooted inside of me, but also had that feeling of existential uncertainy about life. My roots were planted firmly in the ground, my head in the clouds, and my heart stuck in a sea of opposing currents of meaning and absurdity, pushing me towards the coast and pulling me away."
Neither the weed, nor the tree spoke for a few moments. A question pulsated in the silence between the two, and the weed sensed it. "I'm talking about faith in there being a purpose for all of us, as individuals, and as a whole. By the grace and love of the sun. You might be happy if you stopped worrying about yourself, and lived for others. You'd also do good to remember that the currents won't drown you, and the shore is never as far away as it seems."

"Oh, but what about when there is nobody else? I've seen weeds come and go, like the changing of the seasons, and I'll let you know that going is the only real certainy. I've seen the grace of the sun on the hottest spring morning melting away the snow. But I've also felt his abscence, when I've been stripped of all my leaves, and I fall terrbily ill. Just after this happens, for no good reason at all, the air becomes frigid and snow begins to fall. The sun remains an unassuming spectator towards the misery. The light counts for nothing when the harsh realities of the world bare down on you."
"I understand how you feel. Do you feel scared of the that time of year?"
The tree looked towards the mountains, "No, but I won't lie, I do feel a little anxious when the thought of it pops into my head."
"I also know that feeling. It's a humbling kind of anxiety that I've sometimes felt. The apathy of not letting go of fear, but letting it rest. Not abandoning hope, but sheltering it until a new light can be revealed. Anxiety feeds off of hope that seems distant and almost unattainable. Without it, anxiety would be nothing more than despair."
The tree thought deeply while switching his gaze from the mountains down to the weed. "I think your right about that. But lets change the subject."
"Good idea," the weed lightened his tone, but stayed on the same track. "Please tell me, do you have any goals?"
"Well, this is more of a wish than a goal, or even kind of a fantasy. One day I would love to be moved up to the mountains so I can see the world from their heights."
"That's a great goal. I would set about to pray to the sun, in the morning when he is at his strongest, and also at night as he rests. But also keep in mind, you should be grateful for what you have. From where I am, I can't see past the fence. I'm unable to even see these mountains you speak of, even though I trust that they are there. Instead I am happy to see this symmetrical work of beauty, this perfect fence that protects us from the outside world. I'm thankful I get to see this fence, and all the other pleasant realities of this wonderful yard."
The two talked well into the night, the weed slowly winning over the tree's bitterness. If he had realized the transformation that was taking place the tree surely would have been upset. But the biggest changes that take place in a person, or a tree for that matter, happen so slowly, and so subtley that we don't realize them until long after the fact.

Day 3

The next day the sun rose after a terribly windy night. A calm terror remained in the yard for hours after day break.
"Are you alright? My branches hurt like nothing else. For a little while I thought you were a goner."
The weed spoke softly, with a hint of pain in his voice, "Yes, I'm ok. It was a little bit of a scare, but I knew I'd be alright."
"Well, I was worried about you, that's all. I've enjoyed talking to you, especially these past couple of days. Toward the end of the night, when the wind was blowing at it's worst, I felt something I haven't felt in years. At that moment I knew everything was going to be alright, despite what was going on. I knew the sun would rise once more. I feel like you've restored my faith."
The two chatted and laughed together for a few hours. At about three in the afternoon a little boy, who was perhaps eleven years old, came outside from the house. He ran about the yard, looking at everything as if it were new to him, with a look of joyous bewilderment on his face. Shortly thereafter, the father of the boy, a balding middle aged man, came outside with an ice cold beer in his hand.
"Do you see that little boy?" The weed asked. "You see how happy he is? He is so innocent and would never seek to harm anyone. That is what we should strive to preserve in ourselves, that youthful joy, the faithful simplicity of spirit."
"I think your right," the tree replied, gazing down at fence right behind him.
"Hey boy," the old man yelled out, "enough horsing around. Get this yard cleaned up."
Just then the little boy ran up to them, stopped, and then kneeled down as if he were about to pray in front of the weed. With a joyous smile, he ripped the weed from the ground, sending rocks askew, playfully and happily; maiming and killing, destroying dreams and sending what exists into nothingness in his soft hand. The tree watched in horror at the gentle brutality that was taking place.
After that day the tree never spoke to any plant ever again. Just several months later the tree was pulled from the ground and killed by a group of men. He never knew why, but it is rumored that the family had wanted a nice view of the mountains when they sat out on their back patio on sunny summer days.

I really liked the short story, @alcolex. It's such a beautiful story, and also sad, as you said yourself. I wasn't expecting the sad ending, though I could 'feel', while reading the story, that something would happen. But you don't reveal it clearly until the very end, which is good.