I live in the woods next to a small brook among the trees and shrubs. My time here has been long and bleak with the same commotion of wildlife. Winters have blazed through and summers scorched in the repetitious cycles of arrhythmic events. A family of rabbits made their home in my neighbor tree's roots, I would watch their daily activities of hopping around and scurrying about the fallen leaves. The young ones grew older and just when they were about to move out and make their own families a lonely fox padded by and left with a full stomach. The remnants of the borrow were forgotten only to be tucked away in my memories for the quiet nights. Some squirrels took the abandoned hole for refuge during the harsh winter, taking with them acorns of fellow trees. Those thieves! Well, to compromise if the squirrels didn't take them another animal would've.
My leaves cover the ground, hiding the crawling insects from preying birds. I stand bare as I do this time of year every year, a skeleton of my former self. But it seems a nest is being build in my lower branches, the female dove flies for worms. Unfortunately the weather was in a nasty mood and the wind carelessly blew the bundle of sticks over the edge, the male dove hovered adjacent to the quacking branch. I watched silently as the nest fell lightly and the eggs splattered the dry soil, not a hour latter the content of the egg was being eaten by a horde of ants. The female dove returned and with a few words in their unique chirp of a langue they separated into the storm, it began to rain.

Strange creatures that stand with two skinny haunches like how a squirrel sometimes stands when leaning back, come out of a dark rumbling shinny object across the brook. I've never witnessed a creature bigger than the occasional deer, but these furless pinky things are as tall as my lowest branches. They have the colors of autumn on their midsection and a dark sky blue on the top half of their legs. The colors that they wear are moving on them, like leaves on my limbs. Do they grow these weird textured things on their long limbs too?
The only hair they appear to have is on top of their head, unlike the animals I'm accustom to which have it everywhere. I guess their hair is similar to my leaves, only on the top.
There's two of them, one turns to the other and speaks in hissing almost a snake dialect, I listen and watch. They return to the shinny round object and climb inside, the object roars to live and creeps away. Then all is quiet.
My leaves haven't even budded before those creatures come back with their loud shinny object, that are multiple times bigger than the pink animals inside. But there are more loud things the bright color of the sun with fangs instead of a round back. Pink creatures jump from the dark beast, menacing looking things in their hands. A fog of unease sifts through the trees, a breeze rustles past as I whisper in my faint langue to my old rabbit inhabiting friend. Suddenly a roar slices the air like a razor as the pink things bring to life the evil they hold. Standing around they touch the evil object to a tree I haven't familiarized myself with, but even over the brook I can hear its scream. The piercing wail doesn't seem to effect the merciless pink monsters. The birds fly off, from the dying screams of the tree or from the devil forged weapon I don't know.

It has been a year, summer came and left leaving winter in its path. The other side of the brook is a grave site for the trees except tall box shaped things sitting over my dead brothers. I've picked up some of the pink monsters tongue and when they take a 'evening stroll' I listen and watch their breath float up in a small puff. The 'house' closest to me harbors little pink beasts that run around disturbing the silence of nature. Making loud noise as they trample the leaves and clip clop over a wooded bridge made from a tree older than me, I can still hear its screams as they cut it into planks. The little monsterlings stumble up to my thick roots and gaze at the tallest branch they can see, I strain to move a branch towards them, to scare them away forever. But I'm stuck, only the wind has the privilege of moving my thin twigs and leaves, I can't even flex a new offshoot.
The two pink things are covered in colorful flapping 'jackets' as I hear the female pink creature say. One tries to climb up my trunk and falls, the other tries as well, failing in their attempts they run back to their house. For once there is a moment of stillness, until the other house turns up a loud noise called 'music' and lights flash inside.
Most of the original inhabitants of the woods left or died, the beings that lack mobility stay in a now uncomfortable place that was once peaceful. I almost forget what peaceful sounds and looks like.

There's a commotion in the monsterlings house, wood being sawed by 'machines', the same kind that cut down the other side a year ago. A tall male pink beast followed by the two monsterlings themselves walk across the bridge with supplies in their arms. Wood planks. Other object that I've not seen, one that looks like a sharp stem and the other is a wood bar with a bird shaped head but has a disk connected to the back of the head. While the group walks to me, I heard unfamiliar words of 'hammer', 'nail', and 'tree house'. I could tell that the cubs delight was not a shared emotion for me in this 'project'.
The adult places a small board at my base and puts the nail over the plank, he hands the hammer to a 'kiddo'. The monsterling raised the bird looking tool and slammed it on the nail, it goes through the dead tree plank and bites deep into my lower trunk section. Pain courses through me, I yelled and shouted at them. But the beasts slammed the nail until it's buried in both dead wood and alive.
I try and will to turn away and walk as they do, but to walk far far away from this slow nightmare.
Another nail, I focused hard on the root below them to shift and trip them, poke them, grab them. The nail went through my bark and is being hammered with painful antagonizing strokes of silent misery.
As the third board of the 'ladder' is being prepared, I move the inner rungs of wood to bend over the creatures and the branches to curve at them like clawed hands of hawks. A creak groans throughout me and a fresh feeling of adrenalin moves me the extra push, I move above them like a pouncing cat.
The male monster snaps his head up at my movement and snatches his monster children from my base, backing to the bridge. I stop moving, which realistically is only meager inches but it transforms my standing skeleton stance to a tilted claw. Given any time of the day to resemble a hunted looming spirit.
The pink creatures run back to the safety of their houses and for years the untouched side of the brook will remain untouched. The occasional teenage couple engrave their names, but leave with a fright they will never forget. That is until the sun colored 'bulldozers' raid and the machines terrorize for the growing beasts, deaf to the silent cries of the dying.