The last shard of imagination.

Shimmering beams of sunlight danced through all the crooks and crevices in every withering oak and strong, supported trunk. Emerald-green leaves rained out from the sky, surfing on the light gusts of breeze coursing through the veins of nature. The high-pitched songs of the blue tits and toucans above was like an orchestra of magnificent chirps and unique sounds of the jungle. Occurring droplets of morning dew fell from above, like a tear from the heavens. In the far distance, a thunderous splashing rang around a dense atmosphere, thousands of millions of liters of pure liquid tumbling over a cliff edge. This sight alone was worth diamonds galore. Iridescent fish dived into the freezing, fresh plunges of twirling bubble baths. Whispers of all the past spirits of the forest swam like a dolphin in the light winds. Ripe, newly grown fruits scaled up my nose, paralyzed; I stood as motionless as the sturdy bark on the toughest trees. Plucking the fresh peaches off their sagging branches was like feeling the skin on a newborn baby. The most desperate of souls would kill to be able to view such a paradise.  All of a sudden, a soul-wrenching scent hit me: Smoke. Blood-red flames engulfed and I was brought back to reality.

Of course. That was all my imagination. There is no way that such a heaven would exist anymore… not due to us humans.

Phoebe Brooks (12)

Wixams Academy