I am a small tree. I am hardly two feet tall, with weak, thin branches that are yellowing, and no leaves grow on me. People wouldn't care to stop and look, had it not been for where I was growing. Because I was a city tree, but I was growing on a beach, in the sand. My roots didn't want the salt water, but there was nothing else to drink. I was being tormented by the strong waves, but I couldn't just get up and walk away. I was dying, and I couldn't save myself, even if I knew how.
I wasn't where I was supposed to be. I was in a place where I couldn't survive. I couldn't get out. People watch me struggle, but none offer a helping hand. I can't cry out for help, but by just looking at me, one would know I needed to be rescued. And no one bothered.
The next day, a girl is walking alone the shore of a beach on a humid day. Her bare feet burn in the sand, so she approaches the murky, blue-green water to cool them off. She can just barely see her curious face reflecting into the water. She can also make out the shape of an uprooted, decomposing small tree...
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My Chemical Imbalance
Hi. I'm lost. This is my journal.
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mychemicalimb4l4nce
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