Читать книгу: «Skajl»

I was born as a tree and hoped to live a long, happy life—the kind that, it seemed, was meant for any branching creature like me. My dreams were cut short by a human, who ruthlessly ended my journey midway.Let me start from the very beginning. My name is Skajl. I dont know what name the people gave me, or if they gave me one at all. It doesnt matter, though. For as long as I can remember, Ive been Skajl.A trees first memories are nothing like a humans. Whether you like it or not, Ill have to mention humans from time to time—our kind is tightly bound to theirs.

People use memories as tools: to stroke their own ego, to amuse someone or themselves, or sometimes just to feel sad. Its oddly amusing to realize that people suffer for one reason or another, yet keep repeating the same actions their whole lives, hoping for a different outcome. We trees dont know that kind of suffering. My brothers and I grow upward patiently, stretching our branches to embrace the sun and sky, and we only truly suffer for a few reasons. For example, I tremble slightly from the cold—but only a little, and only in winter. About memories: mine begin the moment I emerged as a slender sprout. Dozens of impossibly tiny brothers, along with me, crept slowly between the pebbles for years, stubbornly pushing aside the dense soil ahead. We overcame all sorts of obstacles whose names I never came up with. Our long silence underground gave way to quiet joy on the surface. Not everyone made it, but those who did were beautiful.I remember the first time my body met the suns rays, which seemed to embrace every blade of grass around me. The air, warm and damp, felt as if it existed only for me in that magical moment.