NARRATIVE TEXT

The Dying Me

My name was MT. At least that was what my friend called me with. It was an abbreviation from my kind though. So it was not special, something that I could cope with because there were thousands mango trees out there. And this was my little story.

I lived in a once infertile and empty land. There were just several from my kind. The others were OTs (oak trees), ATs (apple trees), and MTs (maple trees or mahogany trees), yes, the three of us were often confused with each other because of the same nick. Now, the place where I lived in, it was so beautiful, full of flowers here and there, green everywhere and there were MTs, OTs, and ATs junior. Or did it just seem to be?

People were starting to plant other trees, flowers, and even grass. Did they still think about me? No, not anymore. They were too excited to have something new, something fresher than the old me, something they called conservation. At least that was what I heard from two women who were gossiping under my branch a few days ago; an activity that I ridiculously missed.

On October, my leaves started to fall down. I panicked a bit, no, a little too much actually. They fell fast, even the young one. Now I knew what people were fussing about when they were suffering from hair fall. The breeze seemed to blow harder on my aging body. But I was only thirty years old for goodness’ sake! My father, ok, not my father, but the tree that had lived beside me a long time ago, had had 127 years in his life before someone forced him down with a biggest saw I ever seen in my life. The thing roared and groaned until miles away, ignoring a fifteen years old me who watched it in horror.

I felt lonely. I knew that sounded pathetic. But no bird made nest on me again and no squirrel played on my branch anymore. No woman gossiped on my shadow anymore. It had been long since the last time I produced a mango; another reason for them to get rid of me.

I thought I was dying. There were no leaf, no flower, and no fruit. My body became fragile. Termites lived inside of me. I was becoming more and more hopeless every time. One morning I saw a group of people walking toward me. A little happiness sparked. Finally…. finally what?! I panicked. I saw a glint of that saw again.

Pratama Lysa Hapsari (2201408107)